


The Curious Case of Dean Winchester's Coffee

by one_more_offbeat_anthem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (well okay slow-ish burn....the story takes place over a month), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Autumn, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bookstores, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Cats, Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Dean Winchester Loves The Impala, Dean Winchester Wears Glasses, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Gay Panic, Getting Together, Halloween, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pining, Poem: The Waste Land - T.S. Eliot, Pumpkins, References to Shakespeare, Slow Burn, Tattooed Castiel (Supernatural), The Impala (Supernatural), Yoga, cas is good at doodling, catch-22, dean is very smart but also situationally dense, gratuitous use of literature/literary references as plot devices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 21,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26749015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_more_offbeat_anthem/pseuds/one_more_offbeat_anthem
Summary: What do Halloween, coffee, T.S. Eliot, and pumpkins have in common?Meet Dean Winchester: college junior, social work major, part-time mechanic, and secret lover of English literature. When a strong desire to read a certain book brings him face-to-face with the cute guy from his English seminar he's been sneaking glances at all semester, Dean's October takes a turn for the interesting, spooky, and quite possibly the romantic, too. Only time will tell.....(aka the coffeeshop/college/halloween AU nobody asked for but I'm delivering)
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 230
Kudos: 231





	1. October 1

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhh I am so excited for y'all to read this! I was inspired by my local coffeeshop always going all out for halloween, and since things are pretty much closed down this year, I decided to write the magic myself. big props to my betas, amirosebooks and AvidBkWrm for making this ~so much better~ 
> 
> (although they hit the first two chapters, so any errors after that are all on me!)

It was eight in the morning on a Thursday, and Dean Winchester was struck by an urge to head downtown and get a book. He had seen someone quote T.S. Eliot’s _The Wasteland_ , and now he was desperate to read it. Dean knew he could look it up online, but he preferred to be able to hold the words in his hands. He had always been like that—a tactile learner.

If anyone ever found out that Dean Winchester legitimately liked his English classes, he was going to kill them and then himself.

He often felt like a bit of a bull in a china shop, to be honest, a lesson in contradictions. He was a six-foot tall guy who basically just wore flannels, old band tees, jeans, and combat boots, was majoring in social work, had a side job as a mechanic, and, apparently, a soft spot for Shakespeare.

But English? Literature? That shit was fascinating. Dean had signed up for a class on Shakespeare’s tragedies because he needed an extra English class for his pre-reqs, and was now low-key considering minoring in English.

Dean ducked into the bookshop, and he heard a “Hi, welcome to Johnson’s Books,” from the counter. He nodded in acknowledgment, and then whipped around, “Castiel?”

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said sheepishly, his cheeks turning slightly red as Dean walked to the counter, “How are you?”

Castiel Novak was in Dean’s Shakespearean Tragedies class. He hadn’t talked to Castiel much before, but, if Dean was being honest with himself, he had thought about Castiel quite a bit. Dean also knew that they were both juniors. They sat on opposite ends of the same row in class, and more than once Dean had caught himself staring. With ridiculously tousled dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and an expression that always made it look like he was concentrating really hard, Castiel was pretty nice to look at.

“I’m alright. I didn’t know you worked here.” Dean put his hands in his pockets, missing the first time, as he fidgeted slightly.

“I, uh…just started.” Castiel glanced around, “Can I help you find anything?”

“For once, yes. I normally just wander around until I see something I like, but…do you have T.S. Eliot’s _The Wasteland_?”

“Of course! It’s actually uh, my, favorite poem,” Castiel said, coming out from behind the counter, “Follow me.”

Dean took a moment to appreciate Castiel’s appearance fully. He was wearing skinny jeans (something Dean wouldn’t be caught dead in but somehow…worked for Castiel?), beat-up Converse, and a dark blue t-shirt advertising the bookstore.

Castiel stopped in front of a shelf, running his hands through his hair, rumpling it further, “Here it is.” He slid a thin volume off the shelf and handed it to Dean, “I hope you enjoy it.”

Dean lost the ability to concentrate for a second when their fingers brushed. After regaining control of his brain he said, “Favorite poem, huh?”

“Yeah. I, uh, actually…” Castiel flipped his arm over, showing Dean his wrist. Tattooed on it, in a sloping, old-world script, were the words, _what have we given?_

“Is that from the poem?” Dean asked.

Castiel didn’t answer immediately, but after a pause he softly quoted, “ _Then spoke the thunder: what have we given? My friend, blood shaking my heart, the awful daring of a moment’s surrender—which an age of prudence can never retract._ ” His voice became steadier as he continued, “ _By this, and this only, we have existed, which is not to be found in our obituaries, or in memories draped by the beneficent spider, or under seals broken by the lean solicitor in our empty rooms_.”

Another pause, with Cas staring at a spot on the floor right next to Dean’s feet before raising his head and continuing, “That’s the full bit. It’s from the poem, yeah.”

“It’s....” Dean really liked the way the words sounded on Castiel’s lips, but he was attempting to formulate an answer not related to that, “Nice. Eliot sure knows his way around words.”

“I hope you enjoy the whole thing,” Castiel said, leading him back to the register, “Are you reading it for fun or for a class?”

“For fun.”

There was a small, peculiar smile on Castiel’s face at that, “I’m glad. I find things are better appreciated when we do them because we’d like to.”

Dean smiled back, and then finally really took a glance around the bookstore, “You guys really went all out with the Halloween decorations, huh?”

“The owner, uh, really likes Halloween,” Castiel said, “But if you think this is a lot,“ he gestured at the fake cobwebs adorning the bookshelves,“You should head to Crypt Coffee across the street. They always go....big, to say the least.”

“Will do!” Dean grinned, “Thanks for helping me out, Castiel. I’ll see you around?”

Castiel smiled again, this time stretching all the way to his eyes, “I hope so.”


	2. October 2

When Dean checked his phone the next morning, he had a message from an unknown number. It was a picture of a cat, followed by, **_how’s the poem?_**

Instantly realizing who it was, Dean fired back, **_tell me how you got my number first :)_**

**_i may or may not have inappropriately consulted the bookstore’s loyalty card system._ **

**_a rebel. i like that._ **

While waiting for Castiel to respond, Dean rolled over in his bed and went to Facebook, searching “Castiel Novak.” Only one result came up, which made sense—Castiel’s name was weird as hell. The pictures were mostly bees, more cats, and a few with a guy who, despite having blonde hair, looked otherwise fairly similar to Castiel. He was tagged as Gabriel Novak, so Dean figured that he must be Castiel’s brother.

Bored of waiting, Dean sent another text, **_what’s up with the cat?_**

**_emotional support animal—i have an anxiety disorder. his name is washing machine._ **

**_you’re not serious._ ** ****

**_……about the anxiety or about the cat?_ **

Dean laughed as he typed, **_about the cat, dumbass. why is his name washing machine?_**

 **_because it’s fun_ ** ****

**_okay fair_ **

Castiel’s next message came: **_so the poem? thoughts? i have been dying to know._** ** _well not literally dying--_** ** _you get the idea._**

Dean laughed again. He liked this guy.

 ** _just started it, the way he jumps in is so visceral. i mean, the “i will show you fear in a handful of dust” line? epic._** Dean paused, considering, before sending another message, **_by the way, can i call you cas?_**

 ** _sure,_** Cas’s response came, **_most people do. i’m glad you’re liking it :)_**

Dean sent back a smiley face of his own, and then yawned as he pulled himself out of bed. He had to work this afternoon, plus essays due on Monday, so he really needed to buckle down.

On the counter was a platter of cookies with ghosts on them. In addition to going on a book-buying adventure the day before, he had also bought some slice-and-bake Halloween cookies. The cobwebs at Johnson’s Books had reminded him that it was, in fact, October.

His phone dinged with another message: ** _did you know that the poem is dedicated to ezra pound?_**

Dean grinned at the screen. What a nerd.

(As if he could talk.)

Dean sighed, shoving one of the cookies in his mouth on his way to the coffeemaker. If his younger brother, Sam, was here, he would totally be making fun of Dean—Sam was a health nut—but Sam was still in high school, so therefore at home in Kansas. Dean could do whatever he wanted.

He messaged back, ** _i didn’t. tell me more?_**

Dean glanced down at the plate again. He didn’t feel like actually cooking this morning.

Halloween cookies for breakfast it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wanted to mention here that w/ the anxiety thing--I am writing from my own personal experience, so! just wanted to clarify that :) there will be more about this as the story goes on!


	3. October 3

Dean hadn’t _actually_ gotten any work done on his papers.

After his one class on Fridays (ye old Shakespeare seminar—Cas had waved at him and his stomach had dropped) and his shift at the auto shop, he had gotten sidetracked by re-watching the Star Wars original trilogy for the millionth time and having an animated text conversation with Cas about it—Cas somehow thought _Empire Strikes Back_ was better than _A New Hope,_ and Dean was still aghast.

But now Dean had to get his ass in gear.

Dean knew that if he stayed in his apartment, he was going to get distracted immeadiately, so he decided to try the coffeeshop Cas had told him about. Crypt Coffee, wasn’t that the name? Dean had walked past it a few times, but never gone in.

Standing outside the door, he could see why.

When Cas had told him the owners loved to decorate for Halloween, Dean had assumed that he meant there were some fake ghosts, maybe some fun posters, a couple of pumpkins. But no—it was truly _all out._ The windows were painted with ghosts, ghouls, and witches, and when Dean pushed open the door and walked inside, it was like being assaulted by Halloween. Cobwebs hung from every eave (putting Johnson’s Books to shame), the menu was done up in green, purple, black, and orange, and there were even a few fake ghosts and spiders hanging off of the ceiling.

Dean recognized over the shop’s speakers the _Nightmare Before Christmas_ soundtrack, and he shook his head as he headed up to the counter, hitching his messenger bag up higher on his shoulder.

“What can I get you today?”

“Cas?”

The barista’s head snapped up, “Uh, hello, Dean. How are you?”

“I’m fine. How many jobs do you have?” Dean raised an eyebrow, barely able to restrain his grin.

“Just the two.” Cas grinned back.

Dean short-circuited for a second, completely missing what Cas was saying next, and so it was with a hot face that he said, “Sorry, didn’t quite catch that.”

“I was just asking what you wanted to drink.” Cas gestured to the menu behind him, and Dean attempted to ignore the pumpkin-patterned apron he was wearing. “We’ve got the regular coffees and teas, but also some seasonal drinks….most of them are green, though.” Cas pulled a face, “My personal favorite is the salted caramel mocha.”

“Sell it to me,” Dean said.

“That’s my job.” Cas raised an eyebrow. “That’s how coffee shops work.”

“No….” Dean rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, “I mean, pitch the drink to me. Convince me I should get it over, say, a smoothie.”

“Well, for one, it’s not smoothie weather.” Cas drummed his fingers on the counter. “Uh, salted caramel is delicious—sweet and tart. And…it’s chocolate-y.”

“I’m tempted.”

Cas lowered his voice, “Also, my coworkers and I have a bet going. We all chose our favorite seasonal drinks, and we’re trying to see whose gets ordered the most.”

Dean grinned. “Anything to help a friend win a bet. You’ve convinced me.”

A few minutes later, when Dean sat down at a table by the (covered in painted-on ghosts) window, he noticed there was a text notification on his phone.

**_so we’re friends?_ ** ****

Dean took a sip of his drink (okay, Cas was right, salted caramel _was_ delicious), and sent back, **_i’d say so :)_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dean is going to spend a lot of this fic in a bi panic, just so we're all aware xD


	4. October 4

_“Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,_

_Had a bad cold, nevertheless_

_Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,_

_With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,_

_Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,_

_(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)”_

Dean was reading aloud to himself from _The Wasteland._ He was sitting on his couch upside down, with his feet hanging over the back, his black, thick-framed reading glasses sliding off of his nose.

“Huh,” Dean said out loud, pushing his glasses up as he continued,

_"Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,_

_The lady of situations._

_Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,_

_And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,_

_Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,_

_Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find_

_The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.”_

Dean flopped over sideways, fishing his phone off of the ground. He realized that he had forgotten to turn off the television from when he had been eating breakfast in the morning—it was playing an _Addams Family_ marathon.

Cas picked up on the fourth ring, “Hi?”

“Heya,” Dean squirmed slightly as he realized how impulsive this phone call had been, “What do you know about tarot cards?”

“Oh!” If he could see Cas’s face, Dean was pretty sure those blue eyes would have just lit up in excitement. “You’re to the Madame Sosostris part!”

“Yeah, not very far in,” Dean sighed, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“No, no,” the eagerness was evident in Cas’s voice, “You have to savor Eliot’s work. It’s designed to be like a puzzle.”

There was an awkward pause where Dean remembered that he wasn’t that great at talking on the phone, and that he was _talking to Cas on the phone, what the hell_ , and then he collected himself and said, “What’s the significance of the tarot reading she does?”

Cas clearly got up and walked around, based on the noises Dean could hear, eventually saying, “Are you busy, uh, tomorrow afternoon?”

“Not very.”

“I read tarot,” Cas sounded vaguely embarrassed, “I could show you.”

Dean swung himself into a seated position, considering. “Where do you live?”

“Park Street, in the ugly apartment complex.”

“The orange one?” Dean let out a laugh, “That’s literally two blocks from where I live.”

When the phone call ended and they had ironed out details, Dean sighed, long and low.

He was going to Cas’s apartment tomorrow, to talk about poetry.

Jesus Christ.

He grabbed the remote control, turned down the volume of the _Adams Family_ marathon (now on _Adams Family Reunion_ ), and picked back up the book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dean has reading glasses in this fic purely because I love love love dean in glasses and we do NOT get enough of that


	5. October 5

So Dean was sitting at Castiel Novak’s tiny-ass kitchen table.

And he was totally, 100% calm about it.

Dean had a cat in his lap named Washing Machine, Cas was making them both tea (because apparently Dean was the sort of person who drank tea now, if it was offered), and all he could think about was English literature. And the amount of Halloween decorations in Cas’s apartment.

“He really likes you,” Cas said, setting their mugs of tea on the table before sitting down across from Dean, “Normally he hates people. But he’s taken to you.”

Dean nodded, unsure of what to say, before blurting out, “You must really like Halloween.”

Cas smiled as he replied, “Yeah, I think it’s a requirement for working at Crypt Coffee.”

At least Cas’s apartment wasn’t quite as done up as the shop. The decorations here were more kitschy—mini pumpkins, some ghost garlands made of paper, a salt and pepper shaker set shaped like black cats. Speaking of cats, Washing Machine was now purring, and Dean ran a hand slowly across his grey fur.

“Did you get any farther in the poem?” Cas asked.

Dean blushed as he pulled his copy towards him on the table. He had finished all of the hefty first section the night before. It had weirdly helped him push through some of it to imagine Cas reading it to him, with the peculiar reciting lilt he had back in Johnson’s Books.

“I finished the first section,” Dean said, “And read through the first stanza of the second part— _A Game of Chess_?”

“ _Above the antique mantel was displayed as though a window gave upon the sylvan scene: the change of Philomel, by the barbarous king so rudely forced; yet there the nightingale filled all the desert with inviolable voice,_ ” Cas quoted, and Dean felt something odd stir in his gut.

“Do you have the whole thing memorized?” Dean asked.

Cas’s cheeks reddened, “Maybe.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Dean said, “I memorized the whole _To be or not to be_ speech from _Hamlet_ when we read it back at the end of August. I thought it was rad.”

“It is. Although wait until we get to _King Lear_ , that’s some real introspection on mortality.” Cas opened the box he had set in front of himself with his tea when he had sat down and pulled out a deck of cards, “To tarot.”

“To tarot,” Dean parroted, before sipping his tea to give himself something to do. It wasn’t half-bad.

“So, Eliot doesn’t exactly follow how the deck actually works……to be fair, uh, it’s not completely precise. Tarot, I mean. It’s supposed to all be up to interpretation. But the cards Madame Sosostris uses aren’t really real.”

“Wow….” Dean let out a low whistle, “What’s the point then?”

“Are you disappointed that fortune-telling isn’t real?”

Dean shrugged, “I just thought there’d be more.”

“There is.” Cas rifled through his tarot deck, before pulling out a card and extending it to Dean. It had a delicate drawing of what appeared to be an angel (it had wings and a trumpet, so Dean was making his best guess) and _XX: Judgement_ written across the top.

“I thought there were no real cards in the poem?”

“Well, this is one that’s been hypothesized by scholars to be a good guess.” Cas fingered the card, “It’s the twentieth card of the major arcana—in tarot, that represents big events, whereas the minor arcana are the details.”

“And what, exactly, is Judgement?” Dean scratched behind Washing Machine’s ears as he spoke, and the cat dug his head into Dean’s palm.

“The cards have different meanings based on whether they’re facing upright or reversed—but both meanings could work here in the poem. Upright, judgement reflects reflection or reckoning, and reversed it represents doubt.” Cas paused here, his face reddening, “I’m sorry, I must be boring you with all of this.”

“No! I mean,” Dean softened, “No. Dude, _I called you_ to talk about tarot. I think it’s neat that you know all this stuff.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Dean gave Cas a smile, “Tell me more?”

“Well, since _The Wasteland_ is all about facing our mortality,” Cas began, “And judgement is a common euphemism for death….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> should I add a "gratuitous use of the wasteland as a plot device" to the tags? XD I promise tomorrow's chapter is not so t.s. eliot-heavy!


	6. October 6

Dean wasn’t a fan of Tuesdays.

He had three classes, and one of them was a practical for social work, which meant that he spent an hour and a half debating with the other students what to do about particular cases. Today’s was about an alcoholic, which hit a little too close to home, what with the whole deadbeat-absent-alcoholic-father-thing Dean had going on. He was emotionally spent.

Dean didn’t feel like going back to his apartment alone and spreading his books out on the coffee table while he tried to focus through the noise in his mind, so instead he found himself walking to Crypt Coffee. It was somehow _more decorated_ than when he had gone on Saturday—there was now a menu board outside the door with jack-o-lanterns drawn on it, and the handle of the shop’s door was wrapped in purple and black tinsel. Dean sighed and pushed it open.

Without meaning to, his eyes snapped to the counter—no sign of Cas. He would have been lying if he said that he wasn’t a little disappointed, although it wasn’t like Cas could work there every day. He had a life.

After ordering, shoving a few dollars in the tip jar, and getting his drink, Dean sat down at the same table he had used before, the one by the ghost-window. There were other windows, but the bat- and pumpkin-windows were taken, and, to be honest, the witch window freaked him out a bit.

He had ordered the salted caramel mocha again, with a little _ping_ in his chest as he remembered the conversation he and Cas had at the counter a few days ago. Dean pulled out his phone and texted Cas a picture before pulling his books out of his backpack. He had a test on Thursday that he _knew_ he hadn’t studied enough for.

An hour and a half later, Dean’s drink was long-gone and he was knee-deep in a child psychology study guide that only halfway made sense. His reading glasses had long-ago slid to the end of his nose. His attention was suddenly pulled away from an analysis of healthy household dynamics by his phone dinging.

Dean grinned as he flipped it over—it was a picture of a mug of tea (the mug had bumblebees on it) with Washing Machine lounging next to it. Cas was clearly at home.

Dean smiled at the picture and sent back, **_the crypt is more fun with you in it_** ****

Cas’s reply came less than a minute later, ** _things that sound quite odd out of context_** ****

Without fully thinking first, Dean sent, ** _i feel like you could make an actual crypt more fun_** and then smacked his forehead with his palm. What the hell was he thinking?

Dean’s phone dinged: **_i hope we don’t have to test that theory :)_**

Okay, so maybe Cas didn’t think he was a whacked-out weirdo.

(Maybe.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good news everyone  
> dean is still a walking fiasco


	7. October 7

“Hey, Dean?”

Dean looked up from attempting to shove three notebooks, a textbook, and a pencil case back into his messenger bag to see Cas standing in front of him. Today, he was wearing an oversized blue-and-grey striped sweater, which he was currently fiddling with the sleeves of.

“What’s up?” Dean finally managed to zip his bag and silently cheered.

“You, uh, know how Professor Turner told us we have a partner project due next week?”

“Mm-hm?” Dean swung his messenger bag over his shoulder, “Have you found a partner yet—wait.”

Cas looked at him, cocking his head sideways, “What, Dean?”

“You were gonna….” Dean felt like his tongue was in knots as he slid off his reading glasses, tucking them into his pocket, “You were gonna ask me to be your partner, weren’t you?”

Cas fell into step beside him as they walked out of the lecture hall. “That was my idea, yeah.” Cas glanced sidelong at him before adding hastily, “But if you’re not interested, that’s fine, no worries.”

“No, no,” Dean stopped short in the English building’s atrium, “I am interested. I’m just…” He gestured lamely at himself, “A lot going on right now, not processing things at full speed.”

 _And by a lot going on,_ he added to himself, _I mean that you’re very attractive and I’m very not-straight so this is kind of a lot, even though two days ago I was at your apartment, petting your cat and drinking tea out of one of your mugs._

“Oh, okay.” Cas started walking again, and this time it was Dean’s turn to fall in step beside him. They exited the English building into the heart of campus. The air was that sort of fall crisp that was perfectly biting, the swirl of leaves falling onto the quad colored riotous shades of yellow, brown, red.

“Where are you heading?” Dean asked.

“The union, for lunch.” Cas hiked up his backpack, “What about you?”

“Social work building—I can walk with you if you want, it’s on the way.” Dean stuffed his hands in the pocket of his leather jacket, glad for both it and his flannel on a day like today, “You wanna plan a time to meet up and work on the project?”

“We could do my apartment again,” Cas offered, “Since we’ve hung out there before, and you live close.”

“That’d be fine with me. What are you up to tomorrow?”

“I’m…” Cas looked up like he was thinking, “I’ve got like three hours for lunch. I get off from Johnson’s Books at eleven, and I don’t have class until two.”

“I’m also free until two,” Dean said, “So lunch is fine.”

They were at the union now, and awkwardly stopped walking. Students continued to rush by on each side of them, and finally Cas said, “Well, uh, bye, I guess. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You know it.” Dean attempted to causally join the rush of students going the direction he needed to, but instead he instantly tripped, and when he turned back, Cas was grinning.

When Dean swung into his seat in his next class, he pulled his phone out of his back pocket and noticed he had a text.

**_fyi—i wasn’t laughing at you (mostly)_ **

Dean smiled at the screen, before sending back, **_don’t worry. i’m pretty easy to laugh at_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all better strap in because tomorrow is going to be some SERIOUS bi panic


	8. October 8

When Dean woke up on Thursday morning, it was by falling out of bed while attempting to turn his alarm off. He had it set to blare Led Zeppelin’s _Immigrant Song_ , but he knew he should probably change it soon, because he was starting to hate the song. He reached up onto his nightstand from where he lay on the floor, fumbling to find his phone, turning the alarm off.

Dean sat up and rubbed his eyes, grabbing his glasses off of the bedside table to read his screen—he had a text from Cas.

**_so the bug people (is that what they’re called? bug people? pest control? idk) are coming to take care of ants in our complex today….would it be okay to meet at your place instead to work on the project?_ ** ****

Okay, now Dean was fully awake.

He sent back a quick **_yeah! of course!_** and then scrambled to his feet and to the bathroom.

Shit. This place was a mess.

After quick shower, Dean scoured his apartment to make sure it was clean (enough), and at eleven he was lounging on his couch, attempting to appear as casual as possible.

(It was a losing battle.)

When there was a knock on the door about ten minutes later, Dean nearly leapt out of his skin and rushed to the door, yanking it open to reveal Cas holding Washing Machine.

“Sorry,” Cas said, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand not holding the cat, “I didn’t want him to run away, so I brought him with me….” He swallowed visibly.

“No, no, it’s fine. Come on in,” Dean replied, ushering Cas in and shutting the door behind him. Cas had on another oversized sweater—this one was patterned with…..bees? around the collar that was otherwise grey—and his usual beat-up Converse.

“We can hang out in the living room,” Dean said, “If that’s okay. I don’t really have a kitchen table—just a bar.”

They sat on the couch and Dean grabbed his reading glasses off of the side table, sliding them on, “So, I read the rubric this morning—we have to pick a theme from _Romeo and Juliet,_ right? And present about it?” There was no response from Cas, so Dean looked up from his laptop, “Cas?”

Cas turned his head to Dean, “I like your flag.”

Dean glanced towards the pink, purple, and blue striped flag on his wall and immediately turned bright red, “Shit, sorry. I meant to take it down before you got here—“

“Why?” Cas’s brow furrowed, “Did you think I would be upset that you’re bi?”

Dean shrugged, “I don’t have a lot of visitors….plus I’m only out to like, three people, and one of them’s my little brother, so…”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Dean grinned, “Yeah, Sam. He’s seventeen, annoying as hell. But I love him.” It occurred to him that he and Cas didn’t know that much about each other, “I’m from Kansas, by the way. Now you know everything about me.”

“I doubt that’s _everything_.” Cas ran a hand across Washing Machine’s back, “Well, hi,” He waved a hand, making Dean laugh, “My name is Castiel, I’m from Delaware, and I have a brother named Gabriel.”

“I have to ask,” Dean interjected, “What’s up with the names?”  
  
“My parents named us after angels,” Cas replied, “I’m the ‘angel of Thursday.’ They’re religion professors.”

“My mom’s a teacher,” Dean said, “High school English, though, not religion.”

“What about your dad?”

“Good question.” Dean shrugged, “He spent most of my childhood being drunk and mean, and then on my seventeenth birthday he left me his car and skipped town.”

“…I’m sorry.” Cas looked down at his cat, “Shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I answered it because I wanted to.” Dean shrugged, swallowed, kept talking, “Now I feel like you know way more about me.”

“Okay,” Cas looked up again, catching Dean’s gaze, “And I’m gay.”

Dean temporarily lost the ability to function and hoped he wasn’t staring open-mouthed at Cas.

“Did you know,” Cas said, breaking the silence, “That Shakespeare was probably queer?”  
  
 _Right_ , Dean thought, _we’re supposed to be working on a project. “_ I didn’t,” he replied, “Tell me more?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did promise that dean would be filled with a lot of bi panic today, didn't i?


	9. October 9

It was Friday, so Dean was doing one of the things he loved most: he was at the auto shop.

Dean drew the dipstick out of the car's engine, checking the height of the oil, before he heard one of his coworkers, Benny, call out, “Hey, Dean!”

Dean stood up, promptly smacking his head on the hood of the car. He swore under his breath before turning around, “Hey man, what’s up?”

“Well, you know how I got this new girlfriend over the summer?”

Dean nodded. He was tired of hearing about Tori, but he had never told Benny to shut up because, according to Benny, “Single guys don’t get relationship opinions.”

“She’s gotten really into the idea of visiting a pumpkin patch,” at this Benny rolled his eyes as he spoke, “And she wants to go to one tomorrow afternoon, but her friends that were coming with us cancelled.”

“Yeah?” Dean had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“So I was wondering if you wanted to come, if you had anyone you wanted to bring.”

“Oh, sure,” Dean said, “How much do I have to talk to Tori?”

“Dude!” Benny swatted his arm, “Bring someone she can talk to, then.”

Dean had just the idea of who would be good.

After he got off of work, he pulled out his phone, wiping his grease-stained hands on his jeans as he sent a message, **_are you doing anything tomorrow afternoon?_** ****

The response was fast, as usual—Cas was a weirdly quick texter: ** _take a wild guess_** ****

 ** _no?_** Dean replied, ** _i can think of one thing you could do_** ****

Shit. That sounded….not like what he meant.

Dean quickly sent a follow-up, **_one of my friends from work, his girl, and i are going to the pumpkin patch. wanna come with?_** ****

The little three texting dots showed Cas texting for a while, but finally he just sent back, ** _sure :)_** ****

**_awesome :) it’s a little bit of a drive so i can pick you up_ **

Dean had finished his walk back to his apartment at this point, and as soon as he got inside, he kicked off his shoes and called his brother.

“Hey Dean, what’s up?” Sam answered on the third ring.

“Hey kiddo. How was your week?”

Dean could almost hear Sam’s shrug as he replied, “It was fine. Working more on college applications.” Sam let out a groan, “Mom is making me apply early action everywhere.”

“As she should. Remember how I scrambled to apply at the last minute everywhere and it was a nightmare?”

“That’s just you, Dean.”

“Watch it!” But Dean was laughing.

Sam was a good kid, and Dean was positive he was going to be the youngest and best lawyer in the universe. He was also growing like a damn weed—somehow, over the summer he had gotten taller than Dean.

“What are you doing this weekend?” Dean asked.

“Nothing,” Sam replied, “Except for writing stupid essays.”

“Don’t call them stupid, Sammy.”

“But you think they are!”

“I’m supposed to be a good example, whatever that means.” Dean grinned. “Hit those books.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am VERY excited about tomorrow's chapter....


	10. October 10

“Your car is….”

“Majestic?” Dean offered.

“Huge,” Cas finished, sliding onto the bench seat next to Dean, “What is it?”

“You don’t mean to tell me you can’t recognize a 1967 Chevy Impala when you see one!”

“Dean, you work in an auto shop, not me.”

Dean laughed and pressed play on the tape currently in the tape deck—it turned out to be Led Zeppelin’s _Houses of the Holy_. He turned the volume way down as he peeled away from the curb. “This is Baby.”

“Is this the car from…?” Cas asked tentatively.

“My dad? Yeah.” Dean sighed, “He didn’t give me much, but at least he got it together enough to make me love cars.” He glanced over at Cas as he drove. Cas was wearing yet another sweater (Dean could count on one finger how many sweaters he himself owned), this one a dark orange with grey stripes. Cas kept fiddling with the cuffs, his fingers nervous.

“So….who are your friends?”

“Oh, Benny and his girlfriend Tori. Although—“ Dean lowered his voice, even though it was just them, “Tori drives me insane. Or, to be real, Benny talking about her drives me insane. They started dating this summer, and as soon as I was back at the auto shop in August, it was nonstop Tori-time.”

The rest of the drive went by quickly as Dean regaled Cas with stories from the auto shop and its colorful employees. When they got to the patch, Benny was already there, and Dean swung in next to his car in the parking lot.

“Still driving this hunk of junk, I see,” Benny said, patting the shiny black hood of the Impala as Dean and Cas got out of the car.

“Hey, Baby deserves respect!” But Dean was grinning.

“Who’s your friend?” Benny asked.

“Oh, this is Cas,” Dean said. Cas waved awkwardly as Dean continued, “We’re in the same English class.”

“Well, hi Cas,” Benny held out a hand to shake, “I’m Benny, and this is—Tori, babe, Dean’s here, didn’t you hear his gas-guzzler pull up?”

Tori, leggy with long brown hair, climbed out of the car, looking as if she had stepped out of fall advertisement for Target, and said cheerfully, “Hey Dean! And—“

“Cas,” Benny said.

“Hi,” Cas said quietly.

As they walked towards the actual pumpkin patch, Dean hung back a little, dropping his voice, “You alright? If you’re feeling—“

“It’s okay,” Cas replied, “I have to handle new people all the time.”

“Alright, I just—“

Cas stopped, fixing his gaze ( _could his eyes be any more blue?_ Dean wondered) on Dean, “Seriously. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Alright.” They hurried to catch up with Benny and Tori.

“So,” Benny said, about an hour later as they wandered through the corn maze, with Tori and Cas a ways in front of them, chatting animatedly, “How long have y’all been together?”

“Uh…” Dean’s face felt hot, “….We’re not dating?”

Benny stopped short, “Seriously, Dean? It didn’t occur to you that this, with me and _my girlfriend_ , might be a _double date_ sort of activity?”

“I wasn’t—“

“Thinking? Clearly.” Benny laughed and started walking again, “You’ve got an enormous crush on him, though, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” Dean mumbled.

“You _do._ And….” Benny waggled an eyebrow, “I’d say he likes you, too.”

Dean fixed his eyes on Cas’s form ahead of him, with his sweater sleeves over his fingers and his dark hair going everywhere in the breeze, and let out a sigh.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “I like him. But I’m not very….” Dean mentally catalogued his big car, loud music, leather jacket, and too-oft grease-stained hands. “I’m not really _right_ for him, you know?” He finished lamely.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Benny said, lightly punching his shoulder, “Let’s catch up with them.”

When they got to Tori and Cas, she was saying, “Well, I hope Dean at least treats you well.”

 _Shit,_ Dean thought, _they both thought we were dating_.

Cas flashed Dean a smile as he replied, “Well, my cat seems to like him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy gee howdy was I excited to post this chapter. dean is very chaotic and often oblivious and we love that about him <3


	11. October 11

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone dinged. He was halfway through sort of watching all the _Halloween_ movies and sort of reading _The Wasteland_ and, as per usual, his glasses were also halfway down his nose.

He was hoping that the text was from Cas. They hadn’t really talked since he had dropped Cas back off at his apartment the previous afternoon, and Dean felt a weird, jittery sensation in his stomach about it. Had Cas thought it was a date? If so, did he like it? Or did he hate going to the pumpkin patch, and Dean as well?

 _Cool it, Winchester. Cowboy up and read the message_.

He pushed his glasses back up his nose and swiped on the notification.

 ** _hi :)_** The message read. It was accompanied by a slightly awkward selfie of Cas’s face squished up against Washing Machine, his dark hair all over the place, as per usual.

Dean fought back a grin as he typed back, **_hi yourself. having a nice sunday?_** ****

 ** _not too bad,_** Cas’s reply read, **_yours?_** ****

 ** _reading._** Dean snapped a picture of the page of _The Wasteland_ he was reading and sent it off to Cas.

 ** _oh! you’re on part III: the fire sermon!_** was Cas’s quick response. ****

If Dean was being honest with himself, there was something wholly endearing about Cas’s vast knowledge of the poem. The page he had sent Cas simply started with _Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter noon_ , and Cas immeadiately knew where he was in the work.

Another text from Cas appeared, **_that “unreal city” line is another one of my favorites_** ****

Dean typed for a second, erased, and then started over, ** _what does…_** He peered at the end of the previous stanza, **_“Et O ces voix d’enfants, chantant dans la coupole!” mean? it’s french, right?_**

 ** _it’s called the “six language poem” for a reason :P_** The text window said Cas was typing, and the rest of the response came a couple moments later, **_“and oh these children’s voices, singing in the dome!”_**

They ended up texting just about _The Wasteland_ for a couple of hours. Dean would pick up his book to read, and then end up texting Cas a question, and then Cas would respond with several paragraphs and a picture of Washing Machine, and then Dean would thank him, and then the whole cycle would start over again….

 ** _you can’t just be spending your sunday reading, can you?_** Cas eventually sent, and Dean instantly panicked.

Was he being annoying? What if Cas had work to do and he was responding to Dean out of obligation. What if—

He took a deep breath and texted back, **_i was sort of watching the halloween movies earlier_** ****

**_i’ve never seen those, are they good?_ **

**_they’re great! we might have to rectify that situation, huh?_** Instantly, Dean felt like chucking his phone out the window. What was he doing?

 ** _maybe so :)_** came Cas’s reply.

Okay, maybe everything would be fine.

Dean swiped out of the conversation and typed up a text to his best friend from high school, Charlie, who knew everything there was to know about being queer. (She had been a a great help to Dean when he had been confronted with his sexuality via watching _Dirty Dancing_. But then again, who _wouldn’t_ find Patrick Swayze criminally attractive?)

 ** _don’t get mad,_** he sent, ** _but there’s a guy._** ****

In a matter of seconds, he got two messages, one from Cas and one from Charlie.

Cas’s read, **_not that reading the wasteland is bad. i’ve really enjoyed talking to you about it :)_**

Charlie’s read, **_you’re panicking, aren’t you?_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the amount of t.s. eliot in today's--it's just how they met so I gotta keep it going (plus the wasteland is my favorite poem xP) 
> 
> also, dean is being his usual bi fiasco self.
> 
> and charlie? who else is excited to see her? she'll show up again! :)


	12. October 12

“We’re gonna cream all the other groups,” Dean said, saving the shared document he and Cas were working on. They were sitting on Cas’s couch, their knees touching slightly, as Dean added, “Not to brag, of course.”

“Of course.” Cas nodded, and Washing Machine bounded from his lap to Dean’s.

Dean absentmindedly ran a hand over the cat’s back as he watched Cas read something on his laptop’s screen. He had noticed during their two meetings to work on the project that Cas always stuck out his tongue just slightly when he read—he was, in fact, doing it right now.

It shouldn’t have been cute, but it _was_ , and Dean was having a lot of trouble concentrating. They were at Cas’s apartment, putting the finishing touches on their project for Shakespearean Tragedies, and Dean was…..himself, as per usual.

“I think,” Cas said, typing something into the document (Dean watched the words appear on his own laptop screen), “That I like Shakespeare so much because he writes like Eliot, in a way—it’s a puzzle. Well, Eliot came after him. So maybe Eliot writes like Shakespeare.”

“That makes sense.”

Cas took a sip out of his mug of tea (all of Cas’s mugs were kitschy and mismatched, covered with animals or plants—this one had pumpkins) and leaned back on the couch, “I think it’s perfect now.”

This was the moment where Dean should have followed the advice Charlie had given him yesterday. Their text conversation had devolved from him telling her every detail about Cas that he knew to her giving him (dubious) flirting advice. She had told him that everyone loves compliments, and Dean knew that he should have said something about how the project wouldn’t be as good without Cas’s help, or that he didn’t normally like cats or tea, but that was changing…

Dean, however, had no sense of self-preservation, so instead he blurted out, “How did you feel about Saturday?” As he spoke, Washing Machine hopped off of his lap and wandered away.

_Crap._

They hadn’t talked about the visit to the pumpkin patch at all, and Dean had decided to keep it that way, so that he didn’t have to approach the potential weirdness of it being a not-date-date. Here he was, though, putting his foot in his mouth once again.

“Do you mean Saturdays in general, or…?” Cas raised an eyebrow, but Dean knew that Cas was just fucking with him.

“This past one,” Dean replied.

Cas went quiet, staring into a random space on the wall between a poster for the local farmer’s market and the television, before replying, “It was fun. Your friends were cool.”

“I may have bullied Benny into being nice to you,” Dean said, before seeing the look of horror on Cas’s face, “Joking, Cas, I’m joking. He was nice of his own volition.”

“I do have one question, though,” Cas said after a brief moment, “Was it….was it a—“ He was interrupted by a crash from the kitchen.

“Geez,” Cas said when he and Dean made it into the kitchen, staring at the pile of spatulas and wooden spoons on the floor, “Good going, Washing Machine.” He scooped up the cat, depositing him in the living room, before coming back.

Dean was already on the ground, gathering all of Cas’s kitchen tools— _why did he have so many?!_ —when Cas returned.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to help,” Cas said, “I got it.”

“It’s no problem,” Dean replied, which was true until their fingers brushed reaching for the same spoon, and then Dean _did_ have a problem.

“Cats are like that sometimes, huh?” Cas said, when the spoons and spatulas were in a pile on the counter and the broken glass from the jar that had held them being smashed was swept up.

“Never had one, but I guess so.” Dean shrugged as they headed back to the living room. Cas held out a finger to Washing Machine as if to scold him, but then scratched behind the cat’s ears.

It was only later, when Dean was reheating a dish of spaghetti in his own apartment, that he wondered about what Cas had been about to say.

Was he going to ask if it had been a date?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fan-favorite cat washing machine is back and causing problems!
> 
> also, Local Man Has Complete Inability To Function Around Crush. More after the weather.


	13. October 13

There were a few things that Dean Winchester knew for certain, and one of them was this: if you’re stressed, you should stab something with a knife.

Well.

Perhaps not just _anything_.

Dean was stabbing a pumpkin, to be exact, and he was carving it into a defiant frowny-face. The pumpkin from his Saturday adventures had been sitting on his counter for the past couple of days, and he had finally decided to take his frustrations out on it.

Dean hadn’t carved a pumpkin since his senior year of high school, the October that he had been seventeen and Sam had been thirteen. It was their first Halloween without their dad, but their mom had insisted on doing all of the things they normally did. Dean vividly remembered smashing his pumpkin a week later when _Nightmare on Elm Street_ had come on television.

That was his dad’s favorite horror movie.

He stepped back to survey his handwork. If you ignored the scowl the pumpkin was wearing, it looked pretty good. Dean snapped a picture, sending it off to both Cas and Sam.

Dean grabbed himself can of root beer from the fridge, and by the time he had popped the tab, his phone had lit up with a response from Cas.

**_seems like the pumpkin is having a bad day (or is the carver of the pumpkin having a bad day?)_ **

Dean sighed as he typed back, **_guilty as charged. but stabbing the pumpkin helped._** ****

Cas’s next message was a picture of Washing Machine curled up next to his pumpkin from the patch, with the caption ** _does this help?  
_**

**_a little bit :)_** Dean replied, **_why haven’t you carved yours yet?_** ****

**_haven’t figured out what to do. i’m not very artistic._ ** ****

Dean laughed before snapping a picture of his pumpkin-gut covered counter and typing, **_neither am I_**

 ** _hmmm fair._** About a minute passed, and then Cas’s next message came, **_so what was so bad about your day? (if you don’t mind me asking)_**

Dean stared at his screen, his thumbs poised to type a response, but he wasn’t sure what to say. Just then, a message notification from Sam appeared, and Dean swiped on it. It read, **_woah, we haven’t carved pumpkins in forever! did you show mom?_** ****

 ** _i doubt she would be impressed by my pumpkin’s face. i don’t need her worrying about me xP_** Dean sent back, **_how was your day?_** ****

 ** _it was good! only have one application essay left to finish and i got a date to homecoming!_** Sam’s text nearly vibrated with the excitement Dean knew would be evident on his brother’s face, if he could see it.

 ** _attaboy!_** ,Dean replied, before swiping back to the conversation with Cas.

He still wasn’t sure what to say. He had flubbed in his social work practical, making the wrong choice in a case discussion because he had gotten emotional, which had made him think about his dad, which had left him in a funk that couldn’t be erased. And now he had carved an angry face into a pumpkin, which made him think of his dad, too.

Dean was always petrified of making the wrong choices in practical, because it made him worry he would be a bad social worker. He was sure that people looked at him and thought so—guy from a family so poor that he had a hardship scholarship, who didn’t have a dad anymore, who always dressed like he was ready to kick someone’s face in, who only listened to classic rock, who—

Dean shook his head. He knew that he was starting to spiral, and he hated getting like this, because then it made him even more frustrated, because _what if he just ended up angry and bitter just like his dad?_

 ** _the usual,_** Dean finally responded to Cas, **_just a rough class day._** ****

Cas’s next message was simply a string of emojis, mostly a series of cute animals and _lots_ of bee emojis. Its follow up read, **_every nice emoji on my keyboard :) to cheer you up?_**

God, this guy was cute, and Dean was starting to lose it.

What was he gonna do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope y'all didn't mind that today's chapter was a little heavier <3 i really like this one, though (plus: more sammy!)
> 
> and we all know how much cas loves emojis :)


	14. October 14

“How’re you feeling?” Dean asked, sprawling into the seat next to Cas in the Shakespearean Tragedies lecture and dropping his messenger bag on the floor, “About the presentation today, I mean. Or in general. I’m not picky.”

Cas stared at him blankly, “You don’t normally sit here. Next to me.”

“I thought I could, today, to, uh, strategize?” Dean bent down, fumbling with the zipper on his bag, as a way to hide his reddening face as he pulled out his laptop, “Unless you don’t want me to.”

“No, no, it’s fine, just different.” Cas fiddled with the cuffs of the dark grey-and-black plaid flannel he was wearing over a….

“Dude,” Dean said, “Please tell me that’s a _Lord of the Rings_ t-shirt.”

“…It is.”

 _Well,_ Dean thought, _at least I have a good taste in guys._ “That’s cool, Cas. Really. What’s your favorite book?”

“ _Return of the King,_ although really it’s—“

“Just one book,” they both said at the same time.

Dean grinned at Cas, “I think we’re gonna be good, partner.”

“Partner?” Cas tilted his head.

“Like, project partner. Or maybe cowboys. I’m a big westerns guy.” Dean slapped the table, “After the _Halloween_ movies, we’re watching _Tombstone_.”

Once again, Dean’s brain took a second to catch up to his mouth, and he felt his face heat up again as he realized what he had said. Cas just stared at him, though, with a peculiar little smile.

They ended up presenting in the middle of the class, so everyone was still mildly interested as Dean and Cas started their presentation on the symbolism of the letter “R” in _Romeo and Juliet_. Dean kept having to remind himself that he was _also_ supposed to talk (and change the slides on their presentation), because he kept getting distracted by Cas’s enthusiasm.

“That was _A_ material for sure,” Dean said as they packed up their bags at the end of class, “You going anywhere after this?”

“Probably not.” Cas shrugged, “I would get lunch, but I picked up someone else’s shift at the coffeeshop this morning and I may or may not have eaten too many day-old muffins.”

“Valid.” Dean swung his messenger bag over his shoulder, “My afternoon class got cancelled, so I’m just….here, I guess.”

Without talking about it, they fell into step together and ending up meandering across the quad. The leaves swirled down, and Dean noticed that Cas kept purposely stepping on and crunching as many as he could. He fought back a smile, knowing that his ears were burning with a blush that had apparently decided to move in and make itself permanent.

“You know," Cas finally said, “I wish it was fall forever. It’s the best time of the year. Best for sweaters, and tea, and leaves—“ his beat-up-Converse clad foot struck another unsuspecting leaf with a _crunch_ , “—and the best holiday, Halloween.”

“But,” Dean countered, “If it happened all the time, would it be as special?”

Cas shrugged before turning his head to look at Dean, catching Dean’s own green eyes with his piercing blue ones, “Who’s to say what’s special and what isn’t?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> much like cas, I really like fall and leaf-crunching (although my favorite holiday is christmas--halloween is a close second!)
> 
> constantly marveling at dean's ability to embarrass himself :P


	15. October 15

Dean couldn’t believe himself.

He had forgotten a required book for one of his classes, and he needed to read the first twenty pages of it before Friday, which was tomorrow. He found himself taking the Impala downtown to pay a visit to Johnson’s books.

Normally, he would have walked—his apartment was close enough—but it was absolutely pouring down rain, and Dean wasn’t about to get soaked. He was annoyed enough already.

After pulling (expertly, he would add) into a spot in front of the store, he came in, shaking off his leather jacket and stamping his boots on the mat.

“Dean?”

Dean’s head snapped up. _Crap._ Of course Cas was working today. Dean had come in on a Thursday morning to get _The Wasteland,_ too.

Dean was ninety-four percent sure he wasn’t really emotionally prepared for talking to Cas, but he just smiled and said, “Hey, Cas. What’s up?”

“Uh..at work.” Cas shrugged, “What’s up with you?”

“Forgot a book that I need for class. Do you guys have…” Dean glanced at his phone, where he had a picture he had taken of the syllabus, “ _Being Mortal_ by Atul Gawande? It’s for bioethics.”

Cas typed a couple of things into the the computer at the counter, “We do. Follow me.”

It occurred to Dean, as Cas came out from behind the counter in the same Johnson’s Books shirt Dean had seen him in before (he figured it was part of the work uniform), that Cas could have just told him where the book was, but he wasn’t complaining.

Cas led him this time up the stairs to the nonfiction section of the store, running his fingers along several rows of books until he crouched down and pulled out the book with one finger. He stood up, passing a hand over the cover before extending the book to Dean.

“ _Medicine and What Matters in the End,”_ Dean read the subtitle from the cover, “Really cheerful, huh?”

“What do you guys talk about in bioethics?” Cas asked.

“Uh….lots of stuff. End of life care, vaccines, moral philosophy, reproductive technology….it’s pretty broad. But interesting.”

Cas raised an eyebrow, “What’s your major?”

Dean’s eyes widened as he realized they had never talked about what they were studying. “Uh…social work,” he said, “You?”

“English.”

“Figured, what with the…” Dean gestured, “Bookstore. 300-level English class we’re in together.” He was _not_ going to admit that minoring in English was maybe in the cards.

As they walked back to the counter, Cas asked, “How’s _The Wasteland_ going?”

“It’s been good!” Dean rubbed the back of his neck with one of his hands as he set _Being Mortal_ on the counter, “I just finished the part about Tiresias, and the woman having, uh…” He felt himself blush all the way down his neck as he said, “Sex. That she didn’t want to have.”

“That’s one of the sadder parts of the poem, yes.” There was a note of sorrow in Cas’s voice, “Do you know who Tiresias is?”

Dean shook his head.

“He’s a character from the play _Oedipus Rex,_ or _Oedipus the King_. Oedipus learns that he was cursed to kill his father and marry his mother, and that he inadvertently did both of those things and also sired two daughters from his mother. He finds this out because there’s some sort of curse ravaging his kingdom, and he is told that whoever killed the previous king needs to be brought to justice to end the curse…..” Cas pauses, “Tiresias was a blind prophet who told Oedipus that he had seen what he had done."

“So in the poem…” Dean pulled a line from memory, “ _The young man carbuncular_ , who’s sleeping with the woman…Tiresias says he sees it, he….something about wrinkled dugs?”

“ _I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs, perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—I too awaited the expected guest,_ ” Cas recited, “In mythology, he was also famously turned into a woman for seven years.”

“Wow,” Dean sighed, “Eliot really worked hard on this, huh?”

“Just wait until you get further in,” Cas replied, the small smile that Dean kept seeing on his face coming back, “Eventually you’ll get to my favorite part.”

“On your wrist?” Dean asked.

Cas glanced down at the scrolled writing on his arm, “Yeah. Can I—“ He gestured at _Being Mortal_ , still sitting on the counter, “Can I ring that up for you?”

 _Can I also buy you?_ Dean thought to himself, before shaking his head, and then noting Cas’s confusion and saying out loud, “Yeah, sorry. Just—“ He waved a hand around, “Out of it today. The weather, you know. And running an errand.”

“Right.” Cas punched some things into the computer, “I’m just here. Like normal.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded, wracking his brain for something not-idiotic to say—he was coming up empty. Finally he asked, “Which job do you like better?”

Cas shrugged, “I don’t see a lot of people here, so it’s nice to have a break. But everyone at the Crypt is really fun, especially this time of year.” He sent Dean that smile once again, “You should stop by again sometime. The Crypt is also more fun with you in it.”

Dean’s blush picked up again, and he swallowed thickly as he handed Cas his card to pay for the book, “I’ll definitely think about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you thought dean was a fiasco today...just wait until tomorrow. benny's gonna give our boy the nudge he needs to talk to cas :)
> 
> also, I'm in a bioethics class right now where one of our books is "being mortal"--although I didn't forget to buy it like dean did :P


	16. October 16

“Dude,” Benny said, pulling the right wheel off the front of the 1995 Geo Metro they were working on at the auto shop while Dean pulled off the left one, “You seriously haven’t talked to Cas about this whole—“ He waved a hand around, inasmuch as one could while holding a tire, “— _Thing_?”

Dean shrugged, setting his tire on the ground, “I just don’t know what to say. Like, _Hi, I think you’re really hot, and we kind of went on a date last weekend? Want to hang out again?_ I can’t say that!”

“Never thought I’d see the day where Dean Winchester was being a wuss,” Benny said, raising an eyebrow, “Have you lost your touch?”

“I haven’t—“ Dean’s eyes narrowed, “You know what? The coffeeshop he works at is only a five minute walk from here.”

“Then—“ Benny glanced at the clock on the garage wall, “Let’s take our break now. Go get coffee for us from—“

“The Crypt,” Dean said.

“Weird. Anyways, go get us coffee, and go get your man.”

“He might not even be at work today!”

Benny shrugged, “Then at least I’ll have coffee, and you’ll have exercise.”

“You-you—“ Dean spluttered, before throwing his leather jacket over his work coveralls and stomping out of the auto shop.

When Dean got to the Crypt, his eyes darted to the counter to see—Cas was here. Dean wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or freaked out.

Cas was talking to a customer, smiling as he wrote her order on one of their paper cups, pointing at something on the menu. His dark hair was, as always, everywhere, and Dean swallowed his nerves and got in line.

“Dean, hi!” Cas looked him up and down, “You look….different.”

“I’m on break at work.” Dean flashed Cas his name tag pinned onto his coveralls, “You know how it is…I was just here to pick up something for Benny and I…so, I guess an, uh, Americana for him……”

“And for you?” Cas raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, how about that salted caramel mocha thing?”

“You don’t have to get it just because I recommended it to you, you know,” Cas said.

“I actually think it’s pretty good.” Dean wedged his hands into his jacket pockets, “How are you?”

“I’m alright.” Cas glanced up at him from writing on the cups, “Are you?”

“Am I—? Uh, yeah.” Dean swallowed (he felt like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth), “I just wanted to ask if you were…busy tomorrow morning? I thought I would—“ He had no plan for this, so he wildly invented on the spot, “Bake cookies. For Halloween. Well, Halloween-themed, to eat now, because Halloween isn’t for, like, two weeks, but it’s not very fun to do alone and—“

“I would love to,” Cas cut him off, passing the cups over to the barista. She was wearing a bat-patterned apron and has a name tag that said “Meg.”

“Oh—okay,” Dean managed to pull on a smile, “That’s great.” He felt himself blush as he was treated to a glowing smile from Cas.

So he was going to need to get some cookie-making supplies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: I am currently drinking a salted caramel mocha and they are pretty delicious. 
> 
> thank chuck for benny, right? 
> 
> (also, meg'll come back later on--although I will say that there won't be any megstiel, in case you were worried about that! she's just cas's pal....who may be a little benny-like and helpful......you'll have to wait and see!)


	17. October 17

“Charlie, I need you to help me. I’m just—“ Dean waved his hands around even though she couldn’t see him, his phone sitting on the counter in speaker mode, “—I’m lost. Does he think this is a date? Does he wish it was? What am I—“

“Dean,” her voice came out of the phone with a tone of tired patience, and Dean could imagine her red curls bouncing as she shook her head, “You need to take a deep breath and calm down. Obviously, Cas at least finds you tolerable. So just be yourself.”

“Charlie, myself is _terrible_.” Dean threw himself onto one of his barstools, dragging his phone towards him, “Why did I let Benny goad me into this?”

“Benny was giving you the push that you needed. I think—“

Dean heard a knock on his door, “Shit, he’s here.” He took Charlie off of speaker phone, pressing the phone to his ear as he headed toward the door, “Look, I gotta go, but I’ll update you when it’s over, okay?” He pulled open the door, waving Cas in.

“Okay. Don’t explode,” Charlie said, “Love you, loser.”

“Love you too.” Dean rolled his eyes and hung up. “Sorry about that. That was Charlie—my best friend.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Cas replied, “Does he go here?”

“She,” Dean grinned, “Don’t worry—she gets that all the time. No, she’s in California. We’re friends from middle and high school.”

“Hm.” Cas looked odd, and wrong-footed, and Dean felt his stomach turn.

“How are you?” Dean asked, leading Cas to the kitchen, “I have hot chocolate, if you want any. It’s not very fancy, it’s just the packets, but—“

“I would love some,” Cas cut him off and Dean let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, heading to the fridge to get some milk for the hot chocolate.

“I got the stuff to make sugar cookies,” Dean said, “Not very exciting, I know, but they’re just…” He rubbed his hands together, “Simple. Good.”

“Do you bake much?” Cas asked.

“Not a ton, no….I can make a mean pie, though. Pie’s my favorite desert.”

“You know….” Cas smiled at Dean, “The Crypt has pie.”

“Oh?” Dean raised an eyebrow, “Maybe I’ll have to take another visit.”

“I was kind of hoping you would.” Cas’s smile remained, reaching all the way up to his eyes, and Dean felt his stomach flip over several times.

Eventually, the milk heated up, and Dean poured it into two mugs, stirring in the hot chocolate powder before handing one to Cas. “I’ve also got icing—purple, and sprinkles, and cookie cutters…” He pulled open a drawer, digging through it, “They’re shaped like bats.”

Cas’s face lit up again, “Oh, that’s fun!”

“You know me, nothing but fun.” Impulsively, Dean winked at Cas, and then felt instant regret. He had no idea still if Cas was interested in him as more than a friend. _Play it cool, Winchester_ , he thought to himself, _play it cool._

Dean took a long sip of his hot chocolate before turning around and reaching up to a cabinet, “I can get the stuff out and we can get— _fuck_.”

“Are you alright?” Cas asked.

Dean turned around, knowing that he was blushing profusely and probably had the most idiotic expression to exist on his face, “Uh…what do you think?”

He could tell that it took all of Cas’s polite composure not to burst out laughing, but, even so, his expression was nothing short of amused, because the bag of flour had fallen on Dean, completely covering him in it.

_So much for playing it cool._

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair and watching flour fall to the ground, “This is gonna be a bitch to clean up.”

“Do you want to…take a rain check?” Cas asked, bemused.

Dean wiped off his face with the dish towel he pulled off of its hook on the wall. “You know what?” He said, “Let’s keep going. Maybe you can get covered in flour, too.”

“I sure hope not.”

“Wanna bet?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> breaking news: dean winchester is ridiculous   
> (and charlie is a good friend)


	18. October 18

Dean decided that, since yesterday hadn’t been a fiasco, it would be perfectly reasonable to go to the Crypt to get some work done (the whole being-covered-in-flour-with-your-crush thing had severely limited the amount of work he had done on Saturday).

And Cas had told him there would be apple pie.

If that wasn’t an incentive, Dean wasn’t sure what was.

Anyways, after dumping flour on himself, everything else had gone smoothly. Cas was easy to talk to, and funny in a sort of quiet and accidental way. He used air quotes frequently and took things quite literally—although Dean was sure that, based on the way Cas’s mouth curved up on one side when he said stuff sometimes, that some of it was him just playing around with Dean.

He figured Cas would be at the Crypt, based on previous weeks, and he was rewarded by seeing Cas’s eyes light up when Dean walked in. He rummaged in his messenger bag for his card as he headed up to the counter to order.

“Hey,” Dean said as he approached, “Long time no see, huh?”

“I almost forgot what you looked like,” Cas said, “It’s kind of hard to recognize you without flour all over your face.”

“Hey!” But Dean was smiling.

“The usual?” Cas asked.

Dean felt something warm at having a “usual,” and he kind of zoned out for a second, focusing instead on Cas’s ocean-like eyes until he was yanked back in by Cas saying, “Dean?”

“Hm?”

“I was just asking if you wanted whipped cream….I’ve forgotten to ask all the other times.”

“Sure.”

Cas added that to the writing on the cup and passed it to the barista, who was once again the girl with the “Meg” name tag. She flashed Dean a smile as he watched her start to mix his drink.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” Cas asked.

“Unless I’ve become mysteriously ill or whatever, yep.” Their fingers brushed as Cas handed Dean his credit card back, and Dean noticed Cas blush for the first time. Whereas Dean blushed all over his face (and, admittedly, all the way down), only Cas’s cheeks reddened.

Dammit. Everything about him was _cute_.

Dean finally moved so that the next customer could order, and headed to a table. The table by the ghost window he had sat at before was taken, so instead he went for the vampire window. It wasn’t too bad—as he took out his books and laptop, he could see Meg whispering something to Cas, including her eyebrows going up as if she was surprised. Dean couldn’t help but wonder what they were talking about.

He had just taken the first sip of his drink and opened a new document to start making a study guide when his phone dinged. He glanced down—the text was from Cas. Dean looked over to the counter—when his eyes caught Cas’s, Cas immeadiately looked down, his face turning red again.

Dean swiped on the notification and read the message, instantly feeling himself blush, too.

 **_so apparently my coworker meg thought we were together? that’s pretty funny, huh?_ ** ****

Dean went through about eight emotions in the space of five seconds before deciding to text back, ** _that is pretty crazy lol_** ****

Cas’s response took a moment to come, because Dean could see that Cas was busy with a customer, but eventually it came, ** _she thought we were cute though so that’s something_** ****

Dean felt himself blush more as he sent back, ** _that’d be all you :P_** ****

Then Dean flipped his phone over and resolved not to look at it, or Cas, for the next hour.

(He failed—he couldn’t help but look at Cas, and then he wanted to know what Cas had sent back. It was two emojis—a guy shrugging and a winky face.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so dean wants to be flirty? cas thinks that two can play at that game........ ;)


	19. October 19

Dean, amazingly, got to class more than two minutes early for the first time in his life on Monday.He decided to take the opportunity to get engrossed in the novel he was keeping in his bag—Joseph Heller’s _Catch-22_ , which was kind of confusing but _awesome._

It was only when he felt movement to his right that wasn’t normally there that he looked up from his book and saw Cas sitting next to him, in the process of pulling a notebook from his backpack.

“Well, howdy,” Dean said, folding down the corner of the page he was on and then pushing his reading glasses up his nose, “You don’t normally sit here.”

“Are you—are you parroting me?” Cas asked. He seemed nervous for some reason.

“Maybe.” Dean smirked, “But I don’t mind. Why the change-up?”

“I noticed,” Cas swallowed, “That you actually pay attention in this class, and I’m tired of getting saddled with the people who only read the Sparknotes of the plays in discussions.”

“Fair.” Dean tucked _Catch-22_ away in his messenger bag, and Cas followed his movements with his eyes before snapping up and asking,

“How are you liking Heller’s work?”

“Of course you’ve read it already.” Dean rolled his eyes, still smiling, “It’s fun. All the narrators are incredibly unreliable. Especially Yossarian, although I find him kind of relatable, especially when he says—“ Dean pulled the book out again, flipping through to a passage he had marked with a sticky note and reading aloud, “ _And don't tell me God works in mysterious ways. There’s nothing so mysterious about it. He's not working at all. He's playing or else He's forgotten all about us_.”

“I take it you aren’t religious?” Cas said.

“Not particularly.” Dean raised an eyebrow, “Are you, Mr. Angel of Thursday?”

“You remembered.” Cas’s eyes were filled with wonder.

“You have a pretty unique name, dude.”

“I suppose. Believe it or not, my parents who named their kids after angels and teach religion are atheists.”

“I’m not really sure _what_ I am. And I’m not sure it matters.” Dean shrugged, “But I do know that we’re guaranteed now, so…”

“So choose good things.” Cas said.

“Why not?” Dean shut _Catch-22_ , “I haven’t figured out anything better to do. Part of why I want to be a social worker.”

“I like that about you,” Cas replied, as if that was a completely normal and not kind of heavy but also flirty thing to say to someone. Dean was just opening his mouth to formulate a semi-coherent response when their professor walked to the front of the classroom, launching into a rundown of the characters in _King Lear_.

(It was a little harder to focus with Cas sitting next to him.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that this story is kinda literature heavy, what with references to Shakespeare and T.S. Eliot's "The Wasteland" and now "Catch-22"...but it's just what I do, I guess (aka I gave the characters all my literary preferences for fun and folly)


	20. October 20

Dean was laying on his floor, his face mashed into the living room carpet in his apartment.

What a day it had been.

Midterms were skating past, but Dean was still finding himself swamped, practically drowning in work. Several times he contemplated going to the gas station on the outskirts of town, the one where he knew half the attendants could be charmed into selling him beer (freshman year, he and Benny were a bit more adventurous and went to a lot of parties), but he hadn’t drank in months, not after a day in one class spent discussing alcoholism snapped him back into recalling where his dad was—or wasn’t.

He was contemplating just hopping in Baby and going on a long drive, blasting Zeppelin or Black Flag (or both, to mix it up properly), when his phone dinged. Dean let out a long groan and rolled over onto his back, slapping his hand blindly on the coffee table until he found his phone and his glasses. He slid them on and saw that the text notification was from Cas.

It was a picture of a pumpkin carved with a….bee on it.

A bee.

For some reason, Dean found this _fucking hilarious_ , and proceeded to laugh himself to tears before finally unlocking his phone again and texting Cas back, **_what’s up with the bee?_**

 ** _i just think bees are neat,_** is Cas’s response, followed by, a few moments later, **_they’re incredibly essential to human survival, too_** ****

Of course.

It somehow completely made sense that Dean was crushing on a literature geek who also just happened to love bees. Rummaging through his memories of the past few weeks, Dean could also totally remember Cas having a mug with bees on it, and a sweater with bees around the collar….

_Jesus Christ._

This almost set Dean off laughing again, but he took a deep breath to sober himself up, before texting back, **_i thought you said you weren’t artistic._**

**_i’m not, this bee is in no way anatomically correct_ ** ****

Dean had honestly never given a thought to bee anatomy, so reading the text was kind of like getting side-swiped. He quickly recovered, snapping a picture of his face and sending it to Cas with the caption, **_well, you made me smile_** ****

 ** _…are you okay?_** Cas’s head-tilt was almost visible through just the words.

 ** _uh, yeah? why wouldn’t i be?_** Dean typed back.

**_you look like you’ve been crying._ ** ****

Dean stared at his phone, unsure of how to respond. How could he tell Cas that his bee-pumpkin had set him into gales of vaguely unhinged laughter at the end of a genuinely rough day? He had a feeling that Cas might take offense or consider it being made fun of.

Before he could figure out a response, his phone rang—Cas. Dean swiped to answer the call and before Cas could speak butted in with, “I’m fine.”

“Hm.”

“Really,” Dean adds, “It’s just been…a day and then some, and your pumpkin, it….it really made me laugh.”

“Oh?” Cas’s tone is unreadable.

“Yes,” Dean said seriously, “Your bee made me laugh so hard that I cried. It’s…very cute. That you made it. It goes with you. It—“ He promptly shut himself up before he could spew out anything else embarrassing, taking a breath as he continued, “Also, I know nothing about bee anatomy. So I think it’s perfect.”

“Oh.” This _oh_ was different, as if Cas was smiling while he said it, and it made something warm uncurl in Dean’s chest.

“How are _you_?” Dean said, after a long pause.

“Good,” Cas replied, and he sounded like he meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dorks dorks dorks dorks dorks  
> that's all I have to say today


	21. October 21

Dean had been mulling over a line from _The Wasteland_ , and he had been about to work up the nerve to talk to Cas about it before Shakespearean Tragedies, when their professor started class a minute early, cutting him off.

Now, he was flopped on his couch in his living room, halfway through a bowl of mac-n-cheese for dinner, contemplating texting Cas about what his thoughts were. He had done it before, and Cas hadn’t found it weird, so—

He snapped a picture of the page he was currently on and sent it to Cas, with the caption **_this was sort of heavy._** ****

The page in question was section four of the poem, entitled _Death by Water._ Its words were oddly haunting:

_Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,_

_Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell_

_And the profit and loss._

_A current under sea_

_Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell_

_He passed the stages of his age and youth_

_Entering the whirlpool._

_Gentile or Jew_

_O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,_

_Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you._

Dean had almost forgotten about the text about thirty minutes later—he was in the middle of blaring Zeppelin’s _Houses of the Holy_ and doing the dishes when his phone dinged. Dean dried his hands on his jeans and went to unlock his phone and read the message.

**_i did say the poem was all about mortality_ ** ****

**_didn’t expect it to get so intense, though._** Dean sent before turning his attention back to the dishes.

About ten minutes later, while Dean was sliding across the kitchen floor in his socks and playing an extravagant air guitar, he heard a knock, and then his doorbell rang. Dean ran to the door without turning off the music, hoping to catch his breath before he opened the door for whoever it was.

It was Cas.

Cas looked him up and down, and then swallowed awkwardly, “Uh, is this a bad time?”

Dean shook his head dumbly, before shaking himself back into the situation fully, “Unexpected, but fine. I was just—“ He invited Cas in, leading him to the kitchen, “—Cleaning up from dinner.” He paused the song that was playing, “Any reason for the visit?”

Cas tilted his head, “You’re sure it’s fine?”

“Absolutely.” Dean grinned, “Don’t worry.”

“I was just thinking about the poem, and—“

“And you live nearby. I mean, we’re friends, and it’s not like you broke into my apartment, so it’s no sweat. You want some root beer?”

“Sure,” Cas shrugged.

About an hour later, they were both laying on the living room carpet, talking. They had started on the couch, but then Dean had gotten possessed to lay down on the floor as part of explaining how the “ _Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,//Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell//And the profit and loss_ ” line made him feel, and Cas had joined him, and it had all gone sort of downhill (uphill? Dean _was_ having a good time) from there.

“Why do you like this poem so much?” Dean asked, staring at a water stain on the corner of the ceiling.

“It actually….” Cas paused, took a breath, “Helped me a lot with my anxiety, reading it. I mean, anxiety affects a lot of stuff, but one of the things that I used to—and still sometimes do—fixate on is the whole, well, mortality thing…”

“How we’re all gonna die,” Dean said, unsure when his own voice got so reverent. Maybe it was because this seemed like something important for Cas to say.

“Yeah, that. And it’s all…out of our control, you know? And nobody knows for sure what happens next. I would obsess about….if I was doing it all right, if anything mattered if there was nothingness.” Cas cleared his throat, “I mean, I think that was something for me to latch my anxiety onto, because mental illness is….chronic? So I had to work with the symptoms every day, and there were different things.”

Dean rolled over so that he could prop his chin on his hands and look at Cas, “Yeah, I’ve had to take a few psychology classes for social work.”

“Good,” Cas sounded almost relieved, “It’s easier when….someone _gets_ it. So this was my fixation, that I was going to die and I had no control over it. But…no one does? The first time I read _The Wasteland,_ I suddenly didn’t feel so alone and lost. So I threw myself into trying to understand it and what all the pieces meant and why Eliot wrote it. I mean, people write things because they have something they need to say, usually. And this was his thing.”

Dean nodded.

“You probably,” Cas took a deep breath, “Think I’m absolutely nuts.”

“No, no, it makes sense…” Dean wasn’t sure where his connected thought was coming from, but he decided to barrel onwards, “I mean, when my dad left, I was really angry.” Dean knew, of course, that _really angry_ didn’t even begin to cover it, but this wasn’t the sort of stuff he talked about. “And so I listened to music, so much music. I mean, pretty much all the music I like is his, because I remember it playing in the kitchen when I was a kid, or in his workshop, or in the car on trips….I guess a part of me wanted to take that stuff for myself. And you were trying to take the fear thing for yourself.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Cas’s voice now had a note of eagerness in it as he rolled over, too, his face inches from Dean’s, “Because I realized….Eliot references so many other works in _The Wasteland_. This isn’t something that just me, or just he, struggled with—it was an everybody thing. And that extended to how I felt about having an anxiety disorder…..I began to really _see_ that it wasn’t just me, all by myself, struggling with this, and that made me less ashamed, so I started doing way better in therapy and at being open with people about it.”

“I mean, you told me in our, like, second conversation,” Dean said.

“Yeah…” Cas blushed, “I just wanted you to know what you were getting into, I guess.”

“I like what I’ve gotten into so far.” Dean felt himself blush in turn.

There was a weird energy, and they were _quite_ close, and Dean was contemplating doing _something_ (what, he had no idea—his brain wasn’t fully functioning this close to Cas’s eyes) when his phone rang.

They both snapped out of the moment, and Dean dug his phone out of his pocket, “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

“Just checking in on my boy,” she said, “How are you?”

“I’m good. Just hanging out with someone.” Dean put his phone on speaker, “Cas, say hi.”

“Hi?” Cas said tentatively.

“Hi!” Dean could almost hear his mom’s smile as she continued, “I just love to hear from Dean’s friends. Well, I won’t bother you, honey. I was just calling to say hello. Although….” He heard his mom cough, “Excuse me. You should call Sammy tomorrow. He’s being a bit difficult about finishing his last essay for college apps and I think you could be a good influence.”

“Consider it done,” Dean said.

“Thanks, Dean-o. Talk to you later?”

“Of course. Love you, Mom.”

“Love you more.” His mom ended the call.

“Your mom sounds really nice,” Cas said, “And I didn’t know your brother is applying for colleges.”

“He is….although he has the world’s worst influence.” Dean sighed, “I wasn’t exactly a…diligent student in high school. Sammy’s much better than me about it all.”

“It seems to me that you’re doing quite well,” Cas said, and there was that small smile again, and Dean wondered what would have happened if his mom hadn’t called….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh this chapter is quite a bit longer than usual but I had a lot of things I wanted to say in it! like I mentioned earlier on, I am basing cas's anxiety off of my own (bc it's what I know best), so that's just a lil ~disclaimer~ for you all. anyways I hope you liked this chapter! it's prolly my favorite so far :)
> 
> also I hope y'all got that throwback to dean saying in the show that he "ain't exactly a role model" and cas disagreeing with him....my favorite part of writing AUs is finding ways to tie in the canon material :)


	22. October 22

“Hey, kiddo,” Dean said into his phone, when Sam picked up on the fifth ring, “What’s up?”

“Mom put you up to this, didn’t she?” Sam’s voice came out of the speakerphone a bit tinny, as if he was across the room.

“What, I’m not allowed to call my beloved little brother just for fun?”

“Usually you just call me a bitch,” Sam pointed out.

Dean resisted the urge to call him one then and there, instead blowing past it to say, “Write your damn essay, Sammy, so that you can have some peace.”

“But I would rather—“

“Nope, nope, nope,” Dean cut his brother off, “Don’t even think about it. I want you to do better than I did at getting your shit together. You finish the last essay, you submit the last application, you can go do whatever you want. Like….” He raised an eyebrow, even though Sam couldn’t see him, “Homecoming? You told me you had a date. I wanna hear more about who’s making moves on my little brother.”

“Oh!” Sam’s voice picked up in excitement, “Her name is Eileen, and she’s new. And very nice. And deaf. She’s been teaching me sign language—I’m not very good but I’m getting better.”

“She does sound nice,” Dean said, happy for his brother. Sammy was cute as anything, but usually had a rough time with girls.

“She _is._ And since homecoming is on the 30th, the dance is going to be Halloween themed! I think everyone else is planning on just wearing black clothes or whatever, but we’re dressing up in costumes.”

“Thought you felt pretty mediocre about Halloween, Sammy.”

“But I like Eileen, and she likes Halloween, so…” Dean could almost hear his Sam’s blush, “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing much. Work, classes, hanging out with friends…” Dean embarked on a long-winded story about going to the pumpkin patch with Benny, Tori, and Cas, which Sam cut him off in the middle of,

“Who’s Cas?”

“Oh, a new friend. I mean, new-ish. We’ve been in the same English class since August. He’s really cool, super into poetry and he has a cat—“

“You hate cats,” Sam pointed out.

“I like this one!” Dean replied, his tone indignant.

“Hm. So, what do you guys do for fun?”

“Mostly talk about poetry. Sometimes I see him at the coffeeshop he works at. Or the bookstore. And in class. We used to sit across the room from each other, but then he moved, sits next to me now. He likes _Lord of the Rings_. And we’ve baked cookies.”

“Wait….” There was dawning comprehension in Sam’s voice, “Do you _like_ him?”

“…..Maybe.”

“Does Charlie know?” Sam asked. Sam was well-acquainted with Charlie, since she had spent nearly every afternoon at the Winchester’s house since Dean had been in seventh grade.

“Of course, Sammy. I would be an idiot not to tell her.”

“It sounds like you guys have been on….dates. Maybe you should ask him out.”

“I will do _no_ such thing. And they weren’t dates, anyways, we were just hanging out.” Dean wasn’t about to take relationship advice from his seventeen-year-old brother.

“What does he think?”

“Honestly?” Dean sighed, “I haven’t asked.”

“Maybe you should.”

“ _Sammy_.”

“What?” Sam said innocently, “I’m just saying, if you like him you should ask him.”

“Okay. Did you ask Eileen to homecoming?” Dean asked.

“…No. She asked me.”

“Alright then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that there's no dean/cas chaos today, but I wanted the bros to chat! sometimes I think about dean and sam and get all soft and squishy inside ;-;


	23. October 23

“So, lover boy,” Benny said, lowering himself down to the garage’s floor, seating himself against the wall, “How was your date?” It was the first shift he and Dean had together this week, since Benny had taken Wednesday off, and it was clear that Benny had been itching to ask.

“It wasn’t a _date,_ Benny.” Dean sat down next to him, grabbing his water-bottle and unscrewing the lid, “And I ended up covered in flour, so it wasn’t exactly the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“But he still hung out with you this week, despite the flour?”

“I mean, we hung out on Wednesday, and he’s sitting by me in class now, and his friend Meg thought we were dating, but….” Dean sighed, “That doesn’t mean he likes me. And, honestly….”

“Honestly what?” Benny unscrewed the lid of his own water bottle and taking a long swig.

“We’ve actually formed a pretty good friendship….I don’t wanna screw it up.” Dean drew up his knees to his chest, propping his chin on them, “Cas is a genuinely cool guy.”

“Dean, I think you’re pretty smart, but sometimes you can be dense as fuck,” Benny said.

“What do you mean?” Dean turned his head to look at him.

“Cas has _clearly_ been flirting with you. I mean, I’ve only see him when we went to the pumpkin patch, but you can’t be _that_ blind. The problem isn’t whether or not he likes you—“ At this, Benny pointed emphatically, “It’s whether or not you can get it together to ask him out. And _tell_ him it’s a date.”

“I don’t want to be presumptuous, I mean…I know he’s into guys, but….” Dean stammered.

“But nothing.” Benny paused, “You talked to that Charlie girl about this?”

“Yeah, and she said—“

“The same thing as me?” Benny took Dean’s lack of response as an affirmative answer, “See? Maybe you should listen to us. I mean, she knows you better than me—and from the coupla times I’ve met her, she’s a spitfire, but she’s always looking out for you.”

“I don’t…” Dean sighed, staring at the concrete floor of the garage, “I don’t want to screw this up. I feel like Cas….gets me, in a weird way? Like he can—never mind. It’s sappy junk.”

“No, get it out, you’re too repressed as is.”

“It feels like he can see my soul, in a way. Like, stuff I don’t like to talk about? It’s just so…easy with him.”

“Maybe it’s easy for a reason.” Benny sighed at Dean, his eyes kind, before hauling himself off the floor, “C’mon, our break’s over. Let’s get this Continental taken care of.”

“Ugly-ass car,” Dean said, standing up in turn, “Dunno why anyone would buy one.”

But Benny’s words kept echoing through Dean’s head.

_Maybe it’s easy for a reason._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorrrrrry for another no-cas chapter! I just wanted more of dean talkin' it out with his folks bc I feel like that's realistic...when you have a crush and annoy your friends about it and they just want you to MAKE A DAMN MOVE  
> (tomorrow's chapter is gonna be ~exciting~ though!)


	24. October 24

Hell had officially frozen over, because Dean Winchester was going on a run.

It wasn’t that Dean was unathletic—he figured that working on cars for ten hours a week, hefting tires and sliding himself under them, counted as exercise. Plus, he walked nearly everywhere, because parking on campus was a real bitch.

But a _run_.

Dean had woken up with a weird nervous energy, and he wanted to get all of his homework for the weekend out of the way, so he did some googling and decided to go for a jog.

(He would never ever tell Sammy, who also had the distinction of being the superstar of their high school’s cross country team, that he was doing this. _Ever_.)

And so it was that Dean put in his headphones, turned up the Def Leppard, and headed to the park.

He was about halfway through his jog (why did people voluntarily do this? Did they _actually_ enjoy it, or were they brainwashed?) when he saw a rather familiar dark-haired guy lying on a mat on the grass with his legs sticking up the air, along with his whole torso.

As Dean jogged past, he stopped short when he saw that it really was Cas.

“Uh, hi,” Dean said, “What’s up?”

“Hello, Dean. Nothing much, really.” Cas was balancing himself on his shoulders. He passed his legs completely over his head, touching them to the ground, before moving them back to in front of him and sitting up.

“What’re you doing?” Dean asked.

“Yoga. My therapist thinks it helps me get centered.”

“Is she right?”

“Mostly.” Cas smiled before scooting over on the mat, “Want to sit? I figured I’d do it outside today, since it’s the last day it’s supposed to be above sixty degrees for a while.”

“Sure.” Dean sat cross-legged next to Cas, taking a deep breath.

“And what are you doing here? I’ve never seen you at the park before.”

“I decided to go on a run, for some inane reason. I’ve figured out that it’s _not_ for me.”

“There’s always yoga.” Cas raised an eyebrow and then smiled at Dean, “I’m just kidding. Although it is quite nice.”

“If I tried what you just did,” Dean said, “I’d probably snap myself in half.”

“That’s why you start slow!” Cas gestured to him, “Look, lay down, and then put your feet flat on the ground and your knees up.”

Dean complied, “Now what?”

“Now windshield-wiper your knees back and forth to stretch. And then just lift your legs up—try to keep them straight. You don’t have to shoulder stand like me.”

Dean wasn’t sure why he was just following Cas’s directives, but he did.

“Now, kind of…I dunno, tuck your shoulders, and try to lift up—I’ll hold you.”

Dean felt a rush of adrenaline as Cas pressed one hand to his back and the other to his torso, guiding him into a shoulder stand.

“Dean,” Cas said, starting to laugh, “You have to _breathe.”_

This set Dean off laughing, too, and he collapsed to the ground, despite Cas holding him up. “Sorry,” he choked out, “I just—that was very surreal.” _Also,_ Dean’s brain helpfully supplied, _Cas, you’re wearing yoga pants, and I’ve never seen a guy do that but it is hilariously attractive. And now we’re lying on the ground with our faces next to each other again._

“Next time I won’t throw you right in the deep end,” Cas said solemnly, as if it was a foregone conclusion that there would be a next time.

“I sure hope so.”

“Hey, Dean?”

Dean turned his head to really look at Cas, once again finding himself disarmed by his bright blue gaze, “What?”

“The Crypt staff, we, uh….have a Halloween house party every year. It’s next weekend, a week from today actually, and I was, uh, wondering if you…wanted to come?”

Dean could almost hear Benny, Sam, and Charlie in his head, goading him to _ask if it’s a date!_ But Dean didn’t heed them, instead succumbing to his particular brand of self-destruction and simply going, “That sounds great.”

“Really?”

“Of course! Costume party?”

“Duh. It’s Halloween.”

Well.

Dean was gonna have to think of a Halloween costume.

(And a costume that Cas might like.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say y'all would like this one! what do you think the boys will be for halloween? how much bi panic will dean undergo over the course of the next week? can you believe there's only a week left of the story?


	25. October 25

“Dean, please take a deep breath.”

Dean did as Charlie instructed, before picking up his laptop and moving it to his bedroom, speaking as he went, “I just—I should have _asked_ if it was a date, but I didn’t, and now I’m going to look like a damn fool.”

“As your lesbian friend, I can confirm objectively that you’re both mostly likable and not unattractive. And that you _always_ look like a damn fool. You’ll be _fine_.” Charlie’s face on the video call wasn’t exasperated, though—she was smiling, “And it looks like you’ve got yourself quite the catch with Cas, honestly. From the pictures you’ve sent me and stories you’ve told me, he seems helpful…and dreamy.”

“Dreamy is right,” Dean sighed, “Which is why I’m worried about this whole party thing. From what I can tell, his coworkers are all really cool people, and they’ll probably have cool costumes and I’ll look like a freakin’ idiot—“

“And,” Charlie interrupted him, “From what I can tell, he really likes you. Don’t sell yourself so short, Dean.”

Just then, Dean’s phone dinged. He took it off the nightstand and set his laptop on his dresser, standing in front of it so that Charlie could still see him, swiping on the notification, “It’s from Cas.”

“What’s it say?” she asked.

“ ** _Hiya_** ,” Dean read, “With a smiley face. Not the emoji, the colon and parentheses kind.”

“Did you text him earlier?”

“No.”

“See!” Charlie crowed triumphantly, “He texted you first! That’s a really good sign!”

“Don’t you think we could be reading too far into—“

Charlie cut him off again, “Text him back, Dean.”

Dean sighed, reading aloud as he typed, “ ** _Hey yourself. What’s up?_** _”_

“Dude, that’s the most boring message of all time.”

“Well, what do you think I should say? _Hey Cas, I’m reading your texts aloud to my best friend on video chat because I’m a disaster_.”

“Oh, Dean,” Charlie started to laugh, “I’m pretty sure he _already_ knows you’re a disaster.”

“Okay, okay.” Dean rolled his eyes, “The point of this was not to make fun of me, it was to help me figure out my costume for this godforsaken party.”

“Then why’d you call me? Well, you look good in a suit—“

“I don’t want to be too fancy, Charlie.”

“But you tore it up at prom every year!”

“This isn’t prom, it’s a Halloween party.” Dean groaned before looking down at his phone to see another notification.

**_nothing much, just watching a movie. have you seen young guns?_ ** ****

Dean looked up at Charlie.

“What?” she asked, seeing the expression on Dean’s face.

“He’s watching _Young Guns_ , Charlie. A western. I _told_ him about westerns. I—“ Dean thought of how to reply, “What do I say?”

“Ask him if he likes it,” Charlie’s grin was broad, “He clearly already likes you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did y'all catch my usage of one of Charlie's actual lines from the series about cas? 
> 
> (also, you guys are gonna DIE at tomorrow's chapter. it was just TOO CUTE to write <3)
> 
> {also, also, thank you all SO MUCH for all your nice comments! they make my heart really happy ;-;}


	26. October 26

“How do you feel about pumpkin cookies?” Cas asked.

Dean raised an eyebrow. They had been in the midst of a conversation before class about which was better— _Lord of the Rings_ or _The Hobbit_ —and Cas’s comment seemed a bit off the wall.

(Of course, Cas was like that—quietly surprising, with a particular knack for constantly subverting Dean’s expectations.)

“I think they’re pretty good,” he replied, “Why?”

Cas bent down and pulled a foil-wrapped package from his backpack, “There were a _ton_ of leftover cookies at the Crypt yesterday. Apparently the pumpkin ones don’t sell too well.” Cas shrugged, “But now I’ve got, well, a lot of cookies. So. Do you want some?”

“Why not?” Dean accepted the package, stowing it in his messenger bag, “I take it you like them, if you accepted ‘em?”

“I like anything pumpkin-flavored,” Cas admitted, “I usually have pumpkin pie for my birthday.”

“I always have apple pie for mine,” Dean countered, “When’s your birthday?"

“I remember you said pie was your favorite desert,” Cas smiled at him, “September, the eighteenth. Yours?”

“January twenty-fourth.” Dean paused, “Wait. You just turned twenty?”

Cas nodded, turning slightly red, “Is that, uh, a problem?”

Dean laughed, “No! I mean, even if it was, you can’t control when you were born. I just—it always feels like you’re older than me. You’re definitely wiser.”

“Eh,” Cas made a scrunched-up face that sparked something in Dean’s chest, “Not from my perspective.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but their professor began telling them about the paper that was due next week. He ended up spending most of class only halfway paying attention to the deep dive into _Coriolanus_ , instead glancing over at Cas’s paper. Cas’s handwriting was tight and slanted, but his notes seemed haphazard and disorganized. Cas used a variety of pen colors to draw arrows between things that he must have thought were connected, and he _doodled_.

“Doodling” was maybe a weak word for it. Dean had noticed some of it before, but hadn’t really payed attention—now, he realized that Cas was actually quite good at art. All of his drawings seemed to be birds, but then Cas started drawing a face with freckles on it that seemed awfully familiar to Dean….

Cas’s eyes suddenly snapped up and met Dean’s. Cas’s cheeks turned red as he glanced down at his doodle, and then up at Dean, and then back down again. Dean grabbed Cas’s paper and wrote on the bottom corner, **_you’re really good at drawing, dude._** His handwriting looked chaotic next to Cas’s. ****

**_…thanks?_ ** ****

**_i mean it_ ** ****

Cas caught his eye again, smiled, and then started drawing again on the picture. He drew two guys next to each other, one with freckles, and labeled them “Cas” and “Dean” before offering Dean his paper again. Dean took his own pen and (very shittily) drew angel wings and a halo on Cas.

Cas’s smile could have swallowed Dean whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise more cas and dean shenanigans, did I not? and tomorrow's is also gonna be pretty dang cute :) (if a little angsty, bc dean has ~feelings~)
> 
> also, a note on ages. I mentioned earlier that they're both college juniors, but now as you can see there's an eight-month age gap. if you're not American, kids usually get to go to kindergarten if they're going to be five by a certain cut-off date (usually the start of October)--if they turn five after that cut off then they're in the year below. so cas is really young for their grade (and he'll graduate from college when he's 21 as a result, and graduated from high school when he was 17 but didn't skip a grade bc of his "late" birthday), whereas dean is kinda an average age for their grade/year
> 
> (if that was confusing--I'm American and yes, yes it is.)


	27. October 27

_Here is no water but only rock_

_Rock and no water and the sandy road_

_The road winding above among the mountains_

_Which are mountains of rock without water_

_If there were water we should stop and drink_

_Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think_

_Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand_

_If there were only water amongst the rock_

_Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit_

_Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit_

_There is not even silence in the mountains_

_But dry sterile thunder without rain_

_There is not even solitude in the mountains_

“Dead mountain of carious teeth that cannot spit,” Dean repeated to himself in a voice that was nearly dreamlike. He was pacing back and forth in his apartment’s tiny kitchen, _The Wasteland_ held close to his face—he had, in highly characteristic fashion, managed to misplace his glasses (they had to be _somewhere_ in his apartment, right?).

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket, setting down the book on the counter before heading to the fridge to pour himself a glass of milk. As he grabbed the milk carton, he sent Cas a no-context text, which had sort of become their way of communicating.

Since Cas had initiated contact after Dean bought _The Wasteland,_ they had texted every day, about many things. Pumpkins, cats, the best marinara sauce recipe, whether or not kale was gross (Dean knew the truth—kale was _disgusting_ ), Cas’s brother Gabriel’s latest life plan (Last week? Become a hustler in Vegas. This week? Who knew.) and everything else imaginable. Sometimes the conversations were connected, but more often than not they were random thought bits. Yesterday, Dean had stayed up til nearly one am discussing the film _Young Guns_ and, on a scale of one to ten, how hot the lead actor, Lou Diamond Phillips, is.

(The answer? Very. The legendary LDP is _very_ hot.)

Dean’s text, **_there is not even solitude in the mountains,_** got a quick reply of the next line of the poem, **_but red sullen faces sneer and snarl//from doors of mudcracked houses_**

He poured himself his glass before responding, taking a sip of the milk as he clumsily typed with one hand, **_if there were water//and no rock//if there were rock//and also water_** ****

 ** _and water//a spring//a pool among the rock_** —Cas was, as usual, fast on the response.

 ** _if there were the sound of water only,_** Dean sent, walking to the living room as he did, glass of milk in hand.

**_then what would happen to all the things in between?_ ** ****

**_that’s not a line from the poem,_** Dean smiled as he replied, **_how would eliot feel about you going off script?_** ****

 ** _well,_** Cas’s head-tilt was, as it often was, nearly readable, **_he’s dead, so. we could always dig him up and ask_** ****

**_that’s way too much work._ ** ****

**_so then answer my question,_** Cas’s message prodded, ** _if there were the sound of water only, then what would happen to all the things in-between?_** ****

 ** _what’s your in-between?_** Dean asked.

**_anything at all—waking up slowly on a rainy day, a hot mug of tea, the threadbare cuffs of a beloved sweater—it all counts._ **

**_i can see why you’re an english major_ **

**_i can see why you’re minoring in english._ ** ****

Dean balked at Cas’s response. He hadn’t told _anyone_ he was planning on adding English as a minor—not Sam, not Charlie, not his mom, not Benny….or any of his friends, for that matter. So he texted the next logical response: **_how do you know that?_** ****

**_….i saw the degree form sticking out of your folder one day in class. sorry._ ** ****

Dean laughed a little wildly to himself as he typed back, **_you don’t have to be sorry. i was keeping it secret for a dumb reason, anyway._** ****

**_probably not dumb, if it came from you_ ** ****

Dean sighed. Cas, poor guy, was too nice for his own good. **_i wanted to appear a certain way, i guess_** ****

 ** _the way you think you ought to be perceived?_** Cashit it right on the head, as he always did—Dean so desperately wanted to appear in a way that would make someone—who?—proud. He always described himself as a wrong-footed disaster, didn’t he? Classic rock blaring from his vintage Chevy’s speakers, leather-jacket clad shoulders taking up too much space, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface…

And not telling anyone about his sexuality.

The only people that knew were Sam, Charlie, and Benny (and now Cas). It wasn’t like their university was conservative—Dean could be out if he wanted. But he didn’t want to be, and he knew why—it was the face of his father looming in front of him, the man who would try to beat this out of him, as if a part of Dean’s being could be eradicated in that manner.

The person he wanted to make proud was his father.

He was afraid of disappointing his _father_ , a man who cared so little about him that he had left with no note or warning.

Fucking John Winchester _._ Still capable of having a stronghold on Dean, even after he had been gone for three years.

Dean didn’t tell Cas that.

He just messaged back, **_exactly._** ****

Cas’s response made Dean’s stomach flip: ** _i know about it, and i like the way i perceive you (which i guess means i like you)_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the ~angst~ today! I felt like dean's struggle needed some more development and a realization of sorts, so...here we are. and also the wasteland. and also cas being a real sweetheart (bc he IS a real sweetheart)
> 
> how are there only four days left???


	28. October 28

_What is that sound high in the air?_

_Murmur of maternal lamentation_

_Who are those hooded hordes swarming_

_Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth_

_Ringed by the flat horizon only_

_What is the city over the mountains_

_Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air_

_Falling towers_

_Jerusalem Athens Alexandria_

_Vienna London_

_Unreal_

The end of another long day had arrived.

Class (first bioethics, then Shakespeare and a lot of staring at Cas’s profile and musing about what _I like you_ in his text yesterday had meant, and finally a not-complete-fiasco in child psychology that Dean was chalking up as a win), work at the auto shop for a bit, dinner, and now, finally, free time.

Which Dean was choosing to fill with, inexplicably, classic literature.

He was nearly done with _The Wasteland,_ and he had developed a weird conviction that he had to finish it by Halloween.

Which was in three days.

Nerves thrummed in Dean’s stomach as he thought about the party, about Cas, about the surprising amount of introspection he had undertaken recently. Dean’s usual tactic for dealing with emotions was to shove them all away by doing, doing, doing, but something in the universe had told him to stop, and was now drawing him toward someone who seemed to have a philosophy on life that was what Dean desperately needed.

_Then spoke the thunder_

_DA_

_Datta: what have we given?_

_My friend, blood shaking my heart_

_The awful daring of a moment’s surrender_

_Which an age of prudence can never retract_

_By this, and this only, we have existed_

_Which is not to be found in our obituaries_

_Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider_

_Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor_

_In our empty rooms_

There it was—the line from the tattoo on Cas’s wrist. _What have we given?_ That was the ultimate question, wasn’t it? Hadn’t Dean himself told Cas that he wasn’t sure he believed in religion, but that he did believe that whatever he said and did here and now had an impact?

These were the words that portrayed the heart of the matter—Dean had a choice of what he gave back to the world. That fear that raged beneath his temples whenever he slipped up or made a mistake belonged to his father, not to him. Dean didn’t have to end up like him, because he had a choice.

_DA_

_Dayadhvam: I have heard the key_

_Turn in the door once and turn once only_

_We think of the key, each in his prison_

_Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison_

_Only at nightfall, aethereal rumours_

_Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus_

Just this week they were covering Coriolanus in Shakespeare class. What was Coriolanus’s story, again? He was forced into battle by his mother, because she had an idea of what she wanted him to be, and it eventually drove him to his death. He fought too hard for his pride and it killed him.

That was what his father had always wanted—sons who did what he asked, when he asked, who were molds of him. Even at five or six, Dean was told “not to be such a girl.” He was poked and prodded into his current form.

_I sat upon the shore_

_Fishing, with the arid plain behind me_

_Shall I at least set my lands in order?_

_London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down_

_Poi s’ascose nel foco che gli affina_

_Quando fiam uti chelidon—O swallow swallow_

_Le Prince d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie_

_These fragments I have shored against my ruins_

_Why then Ile fit you._

“These fragments I have shored against my ruins…why then Ile fit you,” Dean murmured aloud. That was it, wasn’t it? Other people’s pain wasn’t meant to fit him, and his father could take out his own life on his sons and his wife all he wanted—it would never fit Dean.

_Hieronymo’s mad againe._

_Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata._

_Shantih shantih shantih_

That was it. That was the whole poem.

It was over.

Ordinarily, Dean would have texted Cas to ask about what the words at the end meant, but something about this moment, curled up on his couch with the book as the night deepened, felt holy. He didn’t want to disrupt his own equilibrium. Luckily, the book had come with notes at the end, and Dean found the translation he was looking for.

_Shantih: a Sanskrit word meaning peace or inner peace prayed at the end of an Upanishad._

Peace.

Huh.

Maybe he was being pushed towards Cas, a person who seemed to like him, to even _enjoy_ his company and conversation, because the universe was trying to convince Dean that he was worthy of peace and happiness, if he would only reach out for it.

That was the trouble.

Reaching out for it.

Dean flopped over onto his back, letting the book fall to the side as he stared at the ceiling.

He liked Cas.

A lot.

Like, a lot _a lot_.

He had found Cas insanely attractive since August, but over the course of his October, Dean had realized that Cas was also insanely nice, funny, clever, and understanding. Dean knew that he was going to have to cowboy up and just….put himself out there. Tell Cas how he felt. Maybe he would get rejected.

But maybe it was worth a shot.

Maybe it was time to stop being Dean-that-certain-people-wanted and start being real-deal Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today's is REALLY wasteland heavy but also! like I said yesterday (Monday? I forget), I think dean's narrative arc needed more closure. if you hated the poem bits, there's only one more real mention of the wasteland! if you liked the poem bits, good news: there's another mention xP 
> 
> fun fact: I actually have taken two classes on Shakespeare and Coriolanus is my favorite play, so of course I had to find a way to work it in, because this is just...who I am xP
> 
> I can't believe there are only 3 days left! thank you all so much for your continued reading and commenting ;-; <3


	29. October 29

Somehow, there were a mere two days until Halloween, and Dean wasn’t freaking out. He _wasn’t_. He was beyond calm, cool, and collected.

Right?

After a flurry of text messages and five more phone calls with Charlie (who was incredibly patient, but Dean already knew that—she had been putting up with his bullshit since they were twelve), he had settled on a costume that was less of a costume and more of an excuse to be as comfortable as possible: a squirrel onesie.

Charlie had resisted at first, but Dean had convinced her by promising to get one from Wal-Mart in her size, too, so come Christmas break they could match ( _They’re really soft, Charlie, don’t you want me to be comfortable?_ ) and also by nearly having a nervous breakdown regarding the concept of Cas seeing him in anything remotely nice-looking.

(Not that he _didn’t_ want that, he just felt like it might be more appropriate once he actually talked to Cas about feelings. Which he had promised Charlie he would do. So now he definitely had to do it. Or else she would kill him.)

Dean looked at the squirrel onesie (whoever created adult onesies was a genius and Dean’s favorite person) laid out on his bed and then picked up his phone to text Cas.

He still hadn’t told Cas about finishing _The Wasteland_ —he wasn’t sure how to bring it up, and there was something weirdly intimate about the poem, if he was being honest. It was as if by reading it he was looking into Cas’s soul. He knew the other guy would be delighted to hear he’d finished it, but….

Dean was still working his way up to figuring out to tell Cas how he felt. All of his ideas seemed bad.

_You’re just ridiculously nice and understanding, and also hilarious._

_You make really good seasonal drinks. Well, seasonal drink singular. I never tried something that wasn’t your favorite salted caramel mocha._

_That pumpkin patch thing? Kinda supposed to be a double date, I guess. And the time I asked you to come over to make cookies._

_Are you my guardian angel?_

Yeah, that last one was probably _way_ too cheesy. And terrible. And….

Dean’s phone rang, and he realized he had just left the text window with Cas open because he hadn’t thought of anything fun and casual and not horrible to say.

The call, however, was from Sam.

“Hey Sammy, what’s up?” Dean answered on the fourth ring after shaking himself back into the present.

“Just wanted to check on my favorite big brother,” Sam replied.

“I’m your _only_ big brother. Cut to the chase, kiddo: what do you want out of me?”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“ _Yes_. Cough it up.”

Sam let out a sigh that only a seventeen-year-old boy would be capable of, “I want to be able to drive to homecoming, but Mom is chaperoning _and_ she said it’s too late for me to drive once it ends, even with Eileen, so………….can you help me convince Mom it’s safe for me to drive?”

“Were you planning on going to an afterparty?” Dean asked.

“No. Eileen and I were just gonna watch Halloween movies in the basement.”

“Then let Mom drive you. It’ll be less hassle, she’s guaranteed to get a parking spot since she’s a teacher, and she’s right, it’s safer.” Dean sighed, “Look, do as I say, not as I do. I was never a safe driver during homecomings and I _definitely_ went to parties and drank and drove. I know there’ll be other kids out on the streets doing what I did, and Mom is a more experienced driver than you.”

“Ugh,” Sam’s frown was audible, “When did you become so responsible, Dean?”

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat—he knew exactly when he had, because it was when Dad left, and he had to assume a lot more leadership in their household. But he didn’t say that to Sam. Instead, he said, “You’ll have just as much fun, and I’m sure Eileen doesn’t care if Mom drives. She probably already knows you’re a dweeb.”

“Hey!”

“Just telling the truth.”

“What are you doing for Halloween?” Sam asked.

“Going to a party….”

“Oh, where? With who? Is it with…. _Cas?_ ” Sam’s voice was annoyingly teasing.

“Yes. It’s with _Cas._ For the coffeeshop he works at. He invited me.”

“Well,” Sam said, mock-seriously, “Drive safely, Dean, and use protection, and—“

“Shut up!” Dean was _not_ about to get sex advice from his teenage brother, “Whaddya know about using protection, hm? Are you and Eileen planning on doing more than watching movies? Maybe I should tip off Mom—“

“Ew, Dean. We haven’t even _kissed_ yet. But you’re an adult, so—“

“Well, Cas and I haven’t kissed yet, either. I’m not even sure if this is a date.”

“I’m positive it is.”

Dean sighed, “Yeah, you and everyone else I know thinks that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more of the winchester bros! I can't believe it's ~almost~ halloween....only two days left....thank you all for such nice comments on the last chapter! I was a little nervous to post it bc it's so ~introspective~
> 
> also.....I have a little surprise/extra for y'all on halloween! I think you'll like it :)


	30. October 30

“Someone looks happy,” Dean said, trying to adopt a light, teasing tone as Cas slid into his seat in their Shakespeare class. Cas did, in fact, have a small smile on his face, and it only grew wider as he looked at Dean.

“Yeah,” Cas pulled his notebook out of his backpack, “Tomorrow is the best day of the year.”

“What are your plans?” Dean asked. “I mean, besides the party.”

“I have work in the morning, actually—picking up Balthazar’s shift. He’s the guy hosting the party. But then I was just going to watch _Nightmare Before Christmas_ over and over,” Cas sounded sheepish, “It’s my favorite Halloween movie.”

“Valid.” Dean recalled stepping into the Crypt for the first time and hearing music from that movie on the speakers. He wondered if Cas was in charge of the music sometimes. It would make sense.

“You?”

Dean wracked his brain, “Not really. Homework, mostly. I’m not much of a holiday person…” _Not after Dad left, anyway,_ “Sammy has homecoming tonight, he’ll probably call me so we can rehash. Yesterday he tried to—“ And Dean got into a long rant about his little brother’s driving skills, which Cas countered with the story of his older brother Gabriel driving into a brick wall, which led to Cas doodling the Impala and shoving the picture to Dean halfway through class.

(Dean thought his heart was gonna melt.)

At the end of class, Dean carefully folded up the picture and slipped it in the inside pocket of his jacket. As he packed up his messenger bag, he noticed Cas staring at him. “What’s up?” Dean asked.

“Is it…is it alright if I pick you up tomorrow? For the party? Since I know where it is?”

“Of course! What time?”

“Is eight okay?”

“Of course.” As had sort of become habit, they fell into step with each other as they left the building. The leaves still swirled down in a variety of colors, but there were more brown ones now. There hadn’t been as much rain as usual this fall, but Dean was sure it was coming. Maybe in November.

When they stopped in front of the union, Cas fidgeted for a second, before saying, “I, uh, guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Dean smiled at him, “I _know_ I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 _And tomorrow,_ Dean thought to himself as he continued walking to the social work building, _I’m going to lay all my cards on the table._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little shorter today BUT tomorrow's final chapter is ~pretty hefty~ (and there's the extra halloween surprise) so strap in! I can't believe tomorrow is halloween but I am SO excited to share the ending with y'all ^_^


	31. October 31

At eight o’clock, Dean found himself standing outside his apartment complex in a squirrel onesie, feeling ridiculous.

(Feeling ridiculous was pretty par for the course, actually.)

It occurred to him that he maybe should have asked Cas what kind of car he drove, but he figured he would know. He imagined Cas driving some kind of smart car or hybrid, probably teal or silver.

Dean’s day had been fairly calm. He had gotten a phone call from Sam in the morning, just like he thought he would. Sam had said, “Eileen’s here!” And Dean had replied, “Hi, Eileen,” before remembering that she was deaf, but then Sam told him that he was signing everything Dean said to her, and Dean thought his heart might melt.

Dean resisted the urge to stare at his phone and instead looked up at the sky, scanning for some of the constellations he knew—except the light pollution was blocking a lot of them out. He kept looking though, until he heard an engine and looked down the street.

A golden Lincoln Continental Mark V pulled up to the curb. It was jacked to be a low-rider, and Dean reckoned it was from 1978.

He could reckon that because he was pretty sure he had serviced this car a week ago.

And now he could see Cas sitting in the driver’s seat.

(Well, so much for a nice teal hybrid.)

Dean pulled open the passenger’s side and slid in, “Hey, Cas.”

“Hi.” Cas sounded almost nervous.

“Quick question.” Dean pulled the door shut, “Did you, by any chance, bring this car to Singer’s Auto Shop last week?”

“Uh, yeah, why?”

“That’s where I work.” Dean almost started laughing, “I serviced this car…well, Benny and I did. We may have made fun of it.”

Cas raised an eyebrow, “Oh?” He didn’t seem too upset, though, as he continued, “What’d you say?”

“….We maybe called it a pimpmobile.”

“Oh. Well. I like that, actually,” Cas said thoughtfully, “It’s very oxymoronic.”

“Why’s that?” Dean asked.

“I’m not a pimp.” Cas shifted the Continental into gear, “In fact, I’ve got my sights set on one person.”

“Intriguing. Is this mystery man at the party?” Dean asked, his heart thumping in his chest.

“I sure hope so.” Cas glanced at Dean. “Nice costume, by the way. It looks comfortable.”

“It is.” Dean took a moment to finally get a good look at Cas. He was wearing a black button-down that was halfway unbuttoned (Dean wasn’t sure about seeing Cas from the front now) and a pair of dark, fitted slacks. His hair was especially adventurous.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Dean asked.

“It’s a little hard to tell from the side,” Cas admitted, “But Dr. Ian Malcom. From _Jurassic Park_?”

“Of course! Love that character. You’re missing something, though.” Dean dug through the pockets of his onesie, “Here. You can use my glasses. They’re close enough. Maybe, uh, don’t put them on while you’re driving, though.”

“Why don’t you wear glasses all the time?” Cas asked.

“They’re just for reading. I used to get headaches all the time when I would read.” Dean shrugged. “These do the trick. My eyesight’s fine otherwise.”

Cas nodded once.

They got to the house pretty quickly—it was absolutely _enormous_ , like a miniature mansion.

“Balthazar and his sister Anna are loaded,” Cas said as he parked the Continental, “Balth says he works hours at the Crypt to ‘gain a sense of normalcy.’” There they were, those air quotes again. Dean felt another tightness in his chest.

He wondered if, knowing that Cas had a mystery man at the party, he should jump ship now, break his promise to Charlie and say nothing. His resolve instantly faltered, though, once they had gotten out of the car and Dean could fully see him. He had been right—the sight of half of Cas’s (surprisingly tan) chest nearly floored him, and Dean had to readjust his brain to remember how English worked.

(Also, unsurprisingly, Dean’s glasses suited him.)

“Everyone’s pretty nice, though,” Cas said, “Meg’ll be here, you’ve met her.”

Dean nodded, even though “met” was a really loose term.

Meg, however, didn’t seem to hold any qualms about Dean when they got inside. She instantly hugged him, before stepping back and giving him a once-over. She spoke over the thumping bass of the music, “So you’re the mysterious Dean that Cas has been going on about!”

Cas shrugged awkwardly, averting his gaze from Dean. Dean himself tried channel his normal flirty persona, “Oh, so you’ve talked about me?”

“Once or twice,” Cas said.

“More like all semester,” Meg started, “You running into him at Johnson’s Books really had to be kismet or something.”

Cas blushed furiously at her words, and while Dean’s heart leapt, he pushed it back down. Cas had anxiety. A personality like Meg’s might stress him out. Maybe he didn’t like being put on the spot. Didn’t mean Cas liked _him._

“Well,” Dean said, his brain going into _take care of friend_ mode, “It’s nice to really meet you.” He turned toward Cas, “Want to get some drinks?”

Cas nodded with a grateful expression on his face before grabbing Dean’s wrist and pulling him through the house. Dean tried to focus on where they were going in case he struck out on his own, but there were too many people (and a lot of girls dressed as sexy-whatever—sexy cats, sexy nurses, sexy firefighters) and the sensation of Cas’s fingers on his wrist was very distracting.

Cas busied himself at the counter once they arrived in the massive kitchen. “This is…wow,” Dean said, dragging a hand across the marble island, “You weren’t kidding when you said they were loaded.”

“Well, it’s more like their parents are loaded.” Cas shrugged, “Makes for good parties, I guess.” He bent down, grabbing some things out of a cabinet. The party was clearly sort of already in full swing, so the kitchen was otherwise empty.

“Whatcha doing?” Dean asked, meandering closer to Cas’s bent form.

“Making us drinks. I don’t really drink alcohol, but….” Cas stood up, his shirt yawning open, “I know a few fun Halloween cocktails.”

He bent down again to close the cabinet, and that was when Dean saw it, a tattoo across Cas’s left collarbone. Without thinking, Dean reached out when Cas stood up and grabbed the collar of Cas’s shirt, holding it open.

 _These fragments I have shored against my ruins,_ it read.

“Why then Ile fit you,” Dean said, finishing the line and looking up to meet Cas’s eyes in wonder.

“You finished the poem.” Cas’s voice was soft, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

_Because I read it and it felt like looking into your soul. Because I read it and I understood something about myself. Because I—_

None of those words were right.

So Dean kissed him.

It was a totally ungraceful thing—Dean dragged Cas towards him by the collar of his shirt, and at first he hit Cas’s jaw instead of his mouth, and then Cas stood there in stunned silence, and then _he kissed Dean back,_ lips gentle yet firm.

Dean eventually pulled away, staring at Cas, “Won’t your mystery man be upset?”

“Dean, you are….” Cas sighed, before starting again, “Dean, you are very smart. But you’re also an idiot. I said I ‘sure hoped’ that guy would be at the party because _I was driving him to it._ ”

“Oh. _Oh.”_ Dean felt himself blushing, “This was a date?”

“Of course it was a date.” Cas seized him by the front of his squirrel onesie for another kiss, his grip surprisingly strong.

“So,” Dean said, several hours later, when they had ditched the party to watch the original _Halloween_ movie at Cas’s apartment, as Dean had promised weeks ago, “Best night of the year, huh?”

Cas looked up at him with a grin, “Especially this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH THE END IS HERE
> 
> I have been THRUMMING with excitement to share this chapter and I really hope it lives up to y'all's expectations! However.....
> 
> you should MAYBE click the "next chapter" button.
> 
> there's a little surprise :)


	32. Epilogue: One Year Later

Dean woke up to an empty bed, which was odd, because Cas had specifically said that they weren’t allowed to set alarms today. Their bedroom door was open, though, and he could hear something in the kitchen.

He got out of bed, slipping on his bathrobe as he went, before heading down the tiny hallway into the kitchen. There was Cas, standing at the stove with a spatula, listening to what Dean recognized as the _Nightmare Before Christmas_ soundtrack and humming along. He was wearing a pair of pajama pants and a band tee he had _definitely_ pilfered from Dean’s side of the dresser, and Washing Machine was lazing on the bar, snoozing in the sun drifting in through the window. Dean and Cas had moved in together in August, and Dean had yet to regret it—especially not now.

“Hey,” Dean said, coming behind his boyfriend and slipping his arms around him, “What’s up?”

“Making us special pancakes.” Cas gestured to the pan, “They have chocolate chips. They’re….supposed to be shaped like hearts.”

Dean pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Cas’s neck, “It’s the thought that counts. What are we doing today?”

“Hmm….” Cas flipped the pancake currently in the pan, “I have work this afternoon.”

“And then the party.”

“Of course.”

“But until then….” Dean held Cas tighter, “We can do whatever we want, right?”

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?”

Dean laughed as he turned Cas around and kissed him on the mouth, “You know it.” He pressed his forehead against Cas’s. “Happy Halloween,” he said, intertwining their fingers.

“Happy anniversary.” Cas’s smile, as always, was the brightest thing in the room.

(Thank god, or whatever entity Dean chose, for T.S. Eliot, Halloween, salted caramel mocha, and cats named Washing Machine.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, this is the real end! I had the idea to write an epilogue and I just had to do it <3   
> thank you all so so much for all your support over the course of this story! it realllllly warmed my heart <3 happy halloween, everyone!!!


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